i 


STORIES 


OF 


HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS ; 


OR, 


Leares  iftom  a  Faitsonage 


BY 


MRS.  MARY  H.  VILLARS. 


VOLUME  I. 


EACH    VOLUME    COMPLETE    IN    ITSELF. 


CINCINNATI: 

PRINTED    BY   WALDEN   &  STOWE, 

FOR   THE   AUTHOR. 

1882. 
•«»<-       9       —S-a 


Copyright  by 
MRS.  MARY  H.  VILLARS, 

1881. 


DEDICATION. 


^Thrtsfian  Jjjomeit  of  the  fatttt, 


UPON 

WHOM  RESTS  IN  SO  GREAT  A  MEASURE  THE  RESPONSIBILITY 


THE  CULTURE,  THE  PURITY,  AND  THE  PROSPERITY 
OF  THE  AMERICAN  HOME, 


IS    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED    BY 

Qtt*  author. 


2046394 


PREFACE. 


placing  before  the  public  this  little  vol- 
ume, I  do  not  presume  that  it  will  attract 
so  much   by  its  merit  as  a  literary  pro- 
duction   as   from    the    fact    that   almost   every 
story  has  its  origin  in  some  real  incident,  and 
that  it  has  for  its  characters  real  and  not  ideal 
heroes  and  heroines.     It  is  in  fact  what  it  is  in 
name,  Stories  of  Home  and  Home  Folks. 

I  have  not  found  it  necessary  to  go  outside 
the  bounds  of  my  native  land  for  material 
for  my  pen  pictures,  but  have  culled  from  the 
experiences  and  acquaintances  of  sixteen  years 
in  the  itinerancy  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church. 
My  readers  may  possibly  recognize  here  and  there 
a  character,  the  original  of  which  was  either  a  friend 
or  an  acquaintance,  and  perchance  some  who  read 
these  pages  will  recognize,  if  not  themselves,  at  least 
sentiments  to  which  they  have  at  some  time  given 
utterance ;  and  while  these  stories  may  not  interest 
all,  yet  I  trust  there  is  enough  of  real  home  life  and 
heart  sympathy  to  touch  an  answering  chord  in  the 
hearts  of  those  to  whom  it  is  dedicated,  and  that  the 
effort  to  instruct  as  well  as  to  please  will  not  prove 
an  entire  failure. 


6  PREFACE. 

It  has  not  been  my  aim  to  have  my  pictures 
overdrawn,  nor  to  take  any  but  hom£  pictures  of  the 
common  every-day  life  of  the  common  every-day 
folk,  who  make  up  the  larger  portion  of  this  busy 
world  of  ours.  It  is  not  thfc  stories  of  the  rich  and 
great  that  I  record,  but  as  a  rule  only  "The  short 
and  simple  annals  of  the  poor,"  from  the  little  per- 
plexities of  the  child  to  the  trials  and  victories  of 
maturer  years ;  from  Maggie's  trials  or  Bennie's  sim- 
ple faith,  to  the  struggle  of  the  man  or  woman  over 
the  temptation  to  distrust  the  watchful  oversight  of  a 
loving  Father,  I  have  tried  to  be  faithful  to  the  real 
life  of  the  people  with  whom  I  have  come  in  contact; 
and  if  in  my  efforts  to  "point  a  moral  or  adorn  a 
tale"  I  shall  have  been  the  means  of  lifting  up  some 
burdened  one, — if  I  shall  have  succeeded  in  pointing 
some  troubled  sister  to  the  Source  of  all  consolation, 
if  I  shall  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  trace  some 
steps  of  the  life  of  those  who  have  gained  victories 
over  self  or  over  outside  hindrances,  footsteps  that 
another  similarly  situated, 

"  Seeing,  may  take  heart  again," 

I  shall  be  content,  feeling  that  the  mission  for  which 
these  pages  were  written  is  being  accomplished.  Firm 
in  the  belief  that 

"  Whate'er  may  die  and  be  forgot, 
Work  done  for  God,  it  dieth  not," 

this  little  volume  is  thus  sent  out  upon  its  mission 
by  the  • 

AUTHOR. 


THE  MORGAN  FAMILY— A  CHRISTMAS  STORY,  ...  9 

A  LITTLE  GOSSIP 17 

MARTHA'S  TALENT, 21 

BE  JUST  AS  WELL  AS  GENEROUS, 27 

THE  PREACHER'S  WIFE  AT  CONFERENCE,         ...  38 

KEEPING  THE  RULES, ".        .  42 

BERTIE'S  TEMPTATION 48 

MOTHERS-IN-LAW ,  57 

A  STORY  FOR  LITTLE  GIRLS, 61 

FASHIONABLE  CALLS .67 

MINNIE'S  SELF-DENIAL,      .......  74 

MRS.  CLAYTON'S  EXPERIMENT, 80 

FOR  COMPANY'S  SAKE 87 

TOUCH-ME-NOTS, ,^  96 

THOSE  PARLORS, 102 

THE  FIRST  SABBATH, 106 

You  AND  YOUR  NEIGHBORS.      .'      .    v  ,   "    .       .        .  no 

WHAT  SOME  LITTLE  GIRLS  DID, 116 

VALENTINE'S  DAY,      .       ;        . 120 

WALTER  WILLOUGHBY'S  TEMPTER,       .        .       .        .  126 

A  CHRISTMAS  STORY, 132 

LIVING  WITHIN  ONE'S  MEANS, 140 

SIGNING  THE  PLEDGE, 147 

MAGGIE'S  TRIALS, 151 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

CHRISTMAS  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO, 159 

Cui  BONO?     1 163 

THE  FOSTER  FAMILY;  OR,  ALL  WORK  AND  No  PLAY,    .  168 

JOYFUL  TIDINGS 177 

MARGIE  HAYS'S  VALENTINE, 184 

WOULDN'T  MOTHER  CARE  FOR  SUCH  THINGS?   ...  193 

THE  PATCH-WORK  ALBUM, 201 

SELF,  OR  OTHERS  ?         .......  206 

HELPLESS  WOMEN 211 

WAS  IT  A  THANKSGIVING  ? 218 

BUSY  PEOPLE, 225 

RIGHT-ABOUT  FACE 228 

How  WORTH  HILL  CONQUERED  His  ENEMY,  .        .        .  236 

BESSIE  DEAN'S  GRIEVANCE, 246 

EARNING  HER  OWN  LIVING, 251 

WHICH  is  THE  BETTER  WAY  ? 257 

CAREFUL  AND  TROUBLED  ABOUT  MANY  THINGS,      .        .  264 

CHARLES  MITCHELL'S  THANKSGIVING,  ....  270 

BENNIE'S  CHRISTMAS, 277 

A  NEW-YEAR'S  STORY, 286 

LURED  TO  DESTRUCTION,  .        .        .        ...        .  294 

SAVING  THE  BOYS,         .        .        .        .       .        .        .  301 

SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE,     .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .312 


HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

—  «o°^3~£-°oo_ 

KHE  ]Vf  ORGAN 


HRISTMAS  eve  has  come  once  more  — 
that  evening  so  filled  with  joyful  anjicipa- 
tion  to  the  young,  and  memories  both  of 
joys  and  sorrows    to   the  middle-aged  and  the 
\  gray  haired.      In  mansion  or  cottage  it  would  be 


remembered  and  observed  in  ways  as  various  as 
the  tastes  and  ability  of  the  occupants. 

In  the  home  of  Henry  Morgan  there  had 
been  such  preparation  as  their  circumstances 
would  allow,  and  the  children,  four  in  number, 
were  full  of  excitement  over  the  prospect  of 
extra  puddings  and  pies,  and  the  presents  which 
they  hoped  to  receive  on  the  morrow  ;  for  the  mother, 
firm  in  the  opinion  that  there  is  as  much  happiness 
in  the  anticipation  as  in  the  possession  of  a  treasure, 
had  led  them  to  expect  gifts  of  some  kind,  and  each 
had  in  turn  wished  and  guessed  as  to  the  gifts  they 
would  receive.  The  Christmas  preparations  in  the 
home  of  the  Morgans  would  have  seemed  meager 


io  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

indeed  to  their  wealthy  neighbors ;  but  here  it  was  a 
rare  treat,  such  as  the  eldest  child,  a  girl  of  eleven 
years,  could  not  remember  having  enjoyed  in  her 
short  life. 

A  little  less  than  one  year  previous  Henry  Morgan 
had  signed  the  pledge  of  total  abstinence,  and,  con- 
trary to  the  prophecies  of  those  who  had  no  faith  in 
"temperance  excitement,"  he  had  thus  far  faithfully 
kept  it.  From  the  bright  promise  of  his  early  man- 
hood and  marriage,  he  had  gone  down,  through 
drink,  step  by  step,  until  at  the  end  of  twelve  years 
his  little  home  had  been  taken  for  drink-bills,  and  his 
family  reduced  to  such  poverty  and  wretchedness  as 
only  the  family  of  the  inebriate  can  know;  for  there 
is  a  certain  pride  about  a  poverty  which  comes 
through  sickness  or  misfortune  which  enables  the 
poor  to  hold  up  their  heads,  even  though  they  may 
have  only  rags  and  a  crust.  But  the  poverty  which 
comes  through  dissipation,  and  consequent  degrada- 
tion of  a  loved  one>  brings  with  it  a  sense  of  shame 
and  heartache  that  must  be  buried  out  of  sight,  and 
which  only  gnaws  the  deeper  because  it  is  covered 
up  from  the  world. 

Those  of  Morgan's  friends  who  had  seen  his  fall 
and  sincerely  lamented  it,  had  rejoiced  when  he 
signed  the  pledge,  and  made  an  effort  to  regain  his 
own  self-respect  and  his  former  position  in  society. 
A  printer,  and  thorough  master  of  his  trade,  he  was 
not  long  in  obtaining  employment  when  once  it  was 
known  that  he  had  given  up  drink ;  and  while  some 
shook  their  heads  and  doubted,  there  were  others 
who  had  faith  in  the  man  and  his  strength  of  purpose, 


THE  MORGAN  FAMILY.  n 

and  who  gave  him  a  word  of- cheer  and  a  "God 
bless  you  !"  when  they  saw  his  struggle  with  appetite. 
Christian  friends  had  gathered  around  him,  and  Mrs. 
Morgan's  pastor,  a  man  who  could  thoroughly  sym- 
pathize with  the  unfortunate  in  their  effort  to  reform, 
had  gently  and  lovingly  pointed  him  to  the  true 
Source  of  strength,  and  the  man  had  accepted  it 
humbly,  yet  confidently,  and  walked  in  that  strength 
from  day  to  day. 

Little  by  little  their  circumstances  had  improved. 
He"  had  rented  a  more  comfortable  house,  and  had 
added  little  comforts  to  the  rooms.  His  family  were 
decently  clothed  and  his  children  attended  the  public 
schools,  while  his  wife's  careworn  face  was  gradually 
taking  on  a  more  hopeful  look. 

On  this  particular  evening,  as  Mrs.  Morgan  sits  at 
her  work,  completing  a  pair  of  mittens  which  are  to 
occupy  the  stockings  of  one  of  the  sleepers  to-night, 
and  to  do  service  in  a  merry  game  of  snow-ball  on 
the  morrow,  she  is  busy  with  other  thoughts  than  of 
the  work  in  her  hands.  Her  husband  is  sitting  at 
the  table  near  by,  looking  over  a  memorandum  of 
the  year's  receipts  and  expenditures.  His  face  is 
partially  turned  from  her,  but  she  casts  an  occasional 
glance  toward  him  as  she  works,  while  her  face  seems 
half-way^  between  smiles  and  tears.  She  is  thinking 
of  one  year  ago,  when,  with  scarcely  fuel  enough  to 
keep  her  half-clad  children  from  freezing,  and  with 
but  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  few  potatoes  for  their 
evening  meal,  she  had  waited,  with  weary  limbs  and 
with  aching  heart,  the  steps  of  him  she  called  hus- 
band. She  remembers  how  he  came  at  a  late  hour 


12  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

reeling  under  the  effects  of  liquor  bought  with  the 
money  which  should  have  given  her  children  food 
and  fire.  As  the  picture  rises  before  her  in  all  its 
sickening  realities,  the  tears  gather  in  her  eyes  and 
course  the  way  down  her  cheeks.  But  as  she  brushes 
them  hastily  away,  lest  he  should  look  up,  and,  seeing 
her  tears,  divine  the  cause,  there  comes  to  her  heart 
a  sense  of  thankfulness  as  she  looks  on  her  husband 
as  he  sits  opposite  her,  clothed  in  his  right  mind,  and 
her  tears  flow  afresh  ;  but  they  are  tears  of  joy  and 
gratitude  to  God  for  the  restoration  of  him  she  loves. 
With  a  silent  thanksgiving  for  the  present  happiness, 
and  a  prayer  for  the  future  of  her  family,  she  takes 
up  the  work  which  had  fallen  from  her  hands. 

Presently  Morgan  closes  his  memorandum,  and, 
laying  it  on  the  table,  turns  toward  his  wife.  The 
movement  is  a  very  quiet  one ;  but  Mary  Morgan 
feels  that  his  gaze  is  fastened  on  her,  and  she  does 
not  look  up,  for  she  knows  there  are  traces  of 
tears  still  on  her  face,  and  she  does  not  want  him 
to  see  them  to-night;  for  she  says,  "He  will  not 
understand  fully,  and  it  will  only  pain. him."  But  he 
sees,  nevertheless,  and  thinks  he  understands.  He 
thinks  it  is  because  he  had  so  little  surplus  funds 
from  which  to  purchase  the  supplies  for  the  children's 
treat;  and  then  their  house  is  so  small  and  poor  com- 
pared with  one  they  once  had ;  and  the  same  picture 
rises  before  his  memory  that  had  come  to  Mary  a 
few  moments  before,  only  it  looks  far  worse  to  the 
man  than  it  did  to  the  woman,  because  through  it 
all  she  had  not  been  to  blame,  while  in  his  heart 
there  are  pangs  of  self-reproach. 


THE  MORGAN  FAMILY.  13 

"Mary."  The  word  is  spoken  so  suddenly  and 
with  such  earnestness  that  Mary  starts  like  a  detected 
culprit.  She  looks  up  without  speaking,  and  Morgan 
says,  a  little  huskily,  and  with  evident  hesitation — 
for  he  can  not  readily  speak  his"  own  heart,  even  to 
his  best  friend — "I  wish  I  could  have  furnished  you 
with  a  better  house  and  something  more  for  the  chil- 
dren ;  but  you  said  we  were  not  to  go  in  debt.  I 
hope  you  will  not  feel  disappointed  too  much.  If  I 
cajj  only  have  a  little  time  you  shall  see  better 
days" — and,  with  a  bitter  sense  of  the  time  and 
money  wasted  in  former  years,  he  stops  abruptly, 
crumbling  his  paper  in  his  hands  with  a  nervous  mo- 
tion, striving  to  hide  the  feelings  that  are  choking 
his  utterance. 

"This  will  be  a  very  happy  Christmas  to  me," 
she  says,  earnestly.  "O  Henry,  so  much  hap- 
pier"— then,  conscious  of  what  she  was  about  to  say, 
stops  short,  affrighted  lest  she  has  given  offense. 
But  Morgan  is  not  offended,  although  his  quickened 
conscience  has  caught  her  meaning.  In  a  moment 
he  is  standing  at  her  side,  his  hand  laid  caressingly 
upon  her  shoulder  as  he  looks  into  her  upturned  face 
and  completes  the  sentence : 

"So  much  happier  than  the  last.  Is  that  it?" 
Mary  only  puts  up  both  her  hands,  and,  drawing 
his  from  her  shoulder,  holds  it  against  her  cheek, 
while  her  tears  fall  upon  it.  "Hush!"  she  says, 
almost  in  a  whisper.  "  I  did  not  intend  to  hurt  you, 
but  my  heart  is  so  full  that  I  said  more  than  I  ought. 
I'was  contrasting  to-night  with  last  year,  but  I  was 
not  complaining.  My  heart  is  full  of  gratitude  to  our 


14  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

heavenly  Father  because  he  has  dispersed  the  clouds 
and  let  the  sun  shine  upon  us  once  more.  Let  us 
forget  the  past,  and  only  think  of  a  brighter  future 
for  ourselves  and  our  children."  And,  with  her  face 
beaming  with  a  peace  that  can  only  come  from  a  sure 
hope  in  Him  who  is  strength  to  the  weak,  she  looks 
the  assurance  and  trust  which  she  feels  in  her  hus- 
band's steadfastness  to  his  pledge  and  to  his  conse- 
cration vows. 

For  reply,  he  stoops  and  kisses  her  upturned  face, 
and  with  a  sigh,  which  is  half  relief  and  half  regret, 
he  drops  into  his  chair,  from  which  he  has  risen,  and, 
leaning  his  elbows  on  the  table,  covers  his  face  with 
his  hands. 

Mary  resumes  her  knitting,  which  has  made  but 
slow  progress  during  the  last  few  hiinutes,  and  for  a 
little  while  there  is  nothing  heard  in  the  room  but 
the  click  of  the  needles  and  the  tick,  tick  of  the  little 
clock  as  it  measures  off  the  passing  minutes. 

These  two  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  expressing 
their  thoughts  to  each  othfer  very  freely..  Of  late 
years  Mary  had  grown  accustomed  to  hiding  her  grief 
in  her  own  bosom,  thinking  it  better  to  hide  in  si- 
lence a  wound  that  would  only  grow  worse  by  exhib- 
iting ;  and  her  husband,  conscious  of  his  wrong 
course,  yet  without  sufficient  courage  or  resolution  to 
free  himself  from  the  chain  that  bound  him,  had 
shrunk  within  himself  more  and  more,  and  the  almost 
year  of  sobriety  and  pure  living  had  only  partially 
restored  the  confidence  and  confiding  of  former  years. 

Presently  Morgan  looks  up  with  an  earnest  inquiry 
on  his  face:  "Don't  you  sometimes  feel  as. if  the 


THE  MORGAN  FAMILY.  15 

present  was  only  a  sort  of  pleasant  dream  ?  Or  do 
you  really  have  faith  enough  in  me  to  believe  that  it 
will  last?" 

"I  have  faith  in  God,  on  whose  arm  you  are 
leaning,  and  I  have  faith  enough  in  you,  because  you 
are  leaning  on  that  arm,  to  believe  that  you  will  keep 
the  vows  made  to  God  and  to  me." 

"And  you  say  this,  knowing  where  I  have  been 
in  the  past  ?  Knowing  my  weakness,  you  still  believe 
in  me  and  trust  me?" 

"*Triie  question  is  asked  in  a  voice  deep  and  pas- 
sionate in  its  earnestness,  and  Morgan  waits  with 
breathless  anxiety  to  hear  her  words  of  faith  in  him- 
.  self  reiterated ;  as  if  the  very  hearing  of  them  gave 
him  strength. 

The  answer  comes  firm  and  decided,  while  her 
eyes  meet  his  with  a  perfect  confidence:  "Knowing 
all  the  past,  I  still  believe  in  you  and  trust  you  ;  for 
your  strength  is  not  your  own,  but  God's." 

Morgan  draws  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  but  bows 
his  head  .upon  the  table  as  if  in  silent  prayer.  When 
he  again  looks  up  there  is  a  new  light  beaming  from 
his  eyes,  that  are  moist  with  unshed  tears. 

"Mary,  I  think  I  can  endure  almost  any  thing 
now.  During  the  past  year  I  have  felt  that  I  had  so 
forfeited  your  confidence  by  my  past  life  that  you 
could,  never  trust  me  again.  But  you  have  lifted  the 
last  burden  from  my  heart ;  and,  by  God's  help,  I 
will  never  shame  you  again." 

With  what  a  sense  of  peace  and  rest  did  they 
kneel  in  silent  prayer  that  Christmas  eve,  as,  contem- 
plating the  advent  of  God's  greatest  and  best  gift  to 


1 6  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

men,  they  also  gave  thanks  for  the  gift  of  restored 
faith  and  confidence  in  each  other.  There  was  a 
dark  past  that  must  be  covered  up,  and  if  not  for- 
gotten, then  remembered  as  a  warning  by  the  one, 
and  with  tender  charity  by  the  other,  while  their 
future  would  only  seem  brighter  by  the  contrast. 


jQlTTLE  €{OSSIP. 


(ELL,  that  duty  is   performed,   and  I  am 
glad  it  is  over  with."    And  as  Mrs.  Webb 
picked    up    an    unfinished    garment  from 
the  work-table,  and  seated  herself  preparatory  to 
work,    she  did  not   look  as  if  the  call  which 
she  had  just  been   making,    although  it  may 
have  been  considered  a  duty,  had  been  a  very 
beneficial  one. 

"Was  not  your  visit  a  pleasant  one?"  asked 
Mrs.  Routh,  the  lady  addressed. 

"  O,  I  don't  know;  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say 
it,  but  really,  mother,  that  woman  always  makes  me 
tired  when  I  listen  to  her  talk." 

"What  does  she  say,  or  what  did  she  say  on  this 
particular  occasion,  that  seems  to  have  wearied  you 
so?"  asked  the  mother,  quietly. 

"Why,  it  was  one  continual  gossip  about  her 
neighbors  and  her  neighbors'  affairs,"  responded  Mrs. 
Webb,  a  little  impatiently. 

"I  did  not  take  her  to  be  an  ill-natured  person 
when  I  have  met  her  in  your  house." 

"No,  not  particularly  ill-natured,  but  she  doesn't 
seem  to  be  interested  in  any  thing  that  I  would  call 
interesting.  She  talked  about  such  trifles:  the  num- 
ber of  visitors  Mrs.  Morris  has,  the  new  dresses  of 
Mrs.  Hall  and  her  daughter,  the  new  parlor  set  which 


1 8  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Mrs.  Newman  has  purchased,  and  wondeied  if  her 
daughter  Nellie  wasn't  going  to  marry  soon;  and — 
O  dear,  I'm  glad  to  be  home  again." 

"And  I  am  sorry  I  urged  you  to  go,  if  your  visit 
was  not  a  pleasant  one,"  replied  the  mother;  "but 
Mrs.  Burton  was  so  kind  when  you  and  the  children 
were  ill  that  I  felt  anxious  that  you  should  show  a 
disposition  to  be  neighborly.  Did  she  seem  disposed 
to  criticise  their  actions — to  find  fa'ult  with  them?" 

"  No,  I  can  not  say  that  she  did.  She  did  not 
seem  to  think  they  were  extravagant  or  wicked,  or 
any  thing  of  that  kind  ;  only  her  mind  seemed  so  taken 
up  with  other  people's  affairs,  and  I  hate  gossip." 

Mrs.  Routh  did  not  reply,  though  an  amused 
smile  lurked  about  her  mouth. 

"What  is  there  so  very  funny  about  what  I  have 
said?"  asked  Mrs.  Webb,  as  she  noticed  the  amused 
look. 

"I  was  only  wondering  if  there  was  much  differ- 
ence between  Mrs.  Burton's  'gossip'  and  our  present 
conversation." 

Mrs.  Webb  laughed,  and  colored  at  the  implied  re- 
buke. "  O,  well,  you  know  I  never  give  free  reins 
to  my  tongue,  except  with  you,  and  in  this  case  I  was 
provoked  to  it.  But  I  thought  you  condemned  gos- 
sip as  much  as  I." 

"And  so  I  do,  of  the  harmful  kind;  but  we  must 
not  condemn  too  hastily,  or  speak  too  severely  pf  the 
faults  of  others,  or  we  shall  find  ourselves  committing 
the  very  sin  which  we  condemn.  Gossip  may  be 
harmless  in  its  intent,  and  yet  lead  to  evil  results ; 
and  it  may  be  really  ill-natured  calumny,  and  in- 


A  LITTLE  GOSSIP.  19 

tended  to  do  injury;  but  very  often  it  is  mere  idle 
chitchat,  that  does  no  harm  except  as  it  worries 
those  who  are  compelled  to  listen  ;  and  you  women 
who  have  the  time  and  means  for  improving  your- 
selves mentally  are  not  half  charitable  enough  toward 
those  who  must  work  and  talk,  or  else  not  talk  at  all. 
From  what  I  have  seen  of  Mrs.  Burton,  I  think  she 
makes  up  for  whatever  she  may  lack  in  mental  cul- 
ture by  being  sweet  and  motherly." 

"  I  am  sure  she  has  rare  opportunity  for  devel- 
qpwig  the  latter  accomplishment,  and  to  test  the 
strength  of  its  sweetness,  with  ten  children  to  care 
for,"  answered  Mrs.  Webb.  • 

"Yes;  and  the  fact  that  she  has  been  mother  and 
housekeeper  in  one  during  the  greater  part  of  her 
married  life,  is  some  excuse  for  her  not  being  thor- 
oughly conversant  with  the  current  topics  of  the  day ; 
and  we  have  great  reason  very  often  to  be  thankful 
for  these  same  domestic  women,  even  though  their 
conversation  may  tire  some  of  their  strong-minded 
sisters." 

"O  mother,  don't  insinuate  that  I  am  strong- 
minded  ;  I  am  sure  I  have  all  the  symptoms  of  a 
weak  mind.  Haven't  I  been  'ruffling'  and  'tucking' 
for  the  last  three  days  ?  I  am  almost  sure  that  you 
insisted  on  my  making  that  little  visit  this  afternoon 
to  get  me  away  from  the  sewing-machine,  as  much 
as  from  neighborly  feeling  for  Mrs.  Burton." 

"Perhaps  so  —  killed  two  birds  with  one  stone," 
laughingly  responded  Mrs.  Routh.  "But,  seriously, 
I  do  not  think  you  make  allowance  enough  for  Mrs. 
Burton,  and  others  situated  as  she"  is.  From  your 


20  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

own  statement,  her  talk  about  her  neighbors  was 
prompted  by  kindly  feeling,  and  not  through  a  de- 
sire to  criticise.  As  there  was  nothing  wrong  in 
Mrs.  Morris  having  many  visitors,  nor  in  the  new 
dresses  of  Mrs.  Hall  and  her  daughter,  nor  in  Mrs. 
Newman's  parlor  set,  if  they  were  able  to  afford 
these  luxuries,  I  presume  they  would  not  feel  of- 
fended at  the  discussion  of  them  by  their  neighbor; 
and  as  to  every  one  being  engaged  in  intellectual  pur- 
suits, I  think  if  Hettie  was  as  fond  of  books  and  mag- 
azines as  her  mistress  is,  our  dinners  would  be  rather 
scant  at  times." 

"No  doubt  of  it;  I  acknowledge  that  I  do  not 
Avant  a  book-worm  or  politician  in  my  kitchen.  I  am 
glad  Hettie  likes  her  business,  and  sticks  to  it." 

"Your  neighbors  and  others,  like  her,  have  not 
time  for  much  else  besides  their  household  and  fam- 
ily affairs,  and  while  they  may  not  improve  all  their 
opportunities,  yet  there  is  excuse  for  the  mother  who 
is  overwhelmed  with  such  cares,  and  if  she  can  make 
her  hours  of  toil  pass  a  little  more  pleasantly  by  a 
little  harmless  light  talk,  I  do  not  see  that  she  is  any 
more  censurable  than  those  so-called  great  minds  who 
insist  that  light  reading  is  necessary  for  their  mental 
rest  and  recreation." 


OU  are  surely  not  done  practicing  already? 
Why,    I  am  certain,    Martha,    that   you 
have  not  been  in  the  parlor  three-quarters 
of  an  hour,  and  I  have  not  heard  the  piano  for 
half  that  length  of  time,"  said  Mrs.    Grey,   as 
her   daughter,   a   rosy-cheeked   girl   of  fifteen, 
came  into  the  sitting-room  with  a  shiver,  and 
held  out  her  blue  fingers  to  the  glowing  grate. 
' '  I  can't  help  that ;  I  practiced  as  long  as 
I  could  sit  still ;  seems  to  me  that  it  was  nearer 
three  hours  than  three-quarters,  and  I  do  n't  see 
that   I   play  one    bit   better  than  I  did  yester- 
day," said  the  daughter,  despairingly. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  do  not  take  more  pains  in  learn- 
ing your  lessons.  If  you  do  not  practice  more,  Miss 
Williams  will  certainly  insist  on  your  taking  the  les- 
son over  again,"  said  her  mother,  with  a  sigh. 

"Over  again,"  repeated  Martha,  impatiently. 
' '  Why,  mamma,  I  have  taken  that  lesson  '  over 
again'  for  three  whole  weeks,  and  I  played  it  more 
this  aTternoon  than  I  ever  did." 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  see,  for  my  part,  why  you  can  not 
take  more  pains  with  your  music.  Your  sister  Net- 
tie has  no  such  trouble ;  her  teacher  says  she  always 
has  good  lessons,"  complained  Mrs.  Grey. 

"O,  well,  Nettie  likes  it,  and  I  don't;  and  then, 


22  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

as  Miss  Williams  says,  she  has  a  talent.  Who  wants 
to  sit  two  long  hours  drumming  at  the  piano,  only  to 
make  a  senseless  racket,  and  annoy  other  people?  I 
would  rather  help  Mrs.  Maloney  wash  any  day,"  re- 
plied Martha,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

"Martha,  I  am  surprised  that  you  are  so  un- 
grateful, after  all  that  your  father  and  I  have  done 
for  you." 

"  Well,  I  know  you  are  ve.ry  kind,  but  I  haven't 
patience  to  practice ;  and  I  don't  see  the  good  of  it, 
any  way  ;"  and  Martha  Grey  ran  out  of  the  room,  shut- 
ting the  door  with  a  bang,  and  was  soon  in  the  kitch- 
en, teasing  the  cook  to  let  her  make  the  waffles  for  tea. 

"Sure,  now,  Miss  Marthy,  and  hadn't  ye  better 
be  'tendin'  to  yer  music,  or  finishin'  the  tidy  ye  be- 
gun for  the  rocker,  instead  of  bothering  here,  and 
soilin'  yer  nice  dress  wid  the  cookin' ?"  asked  Han- 
nah, good-naturedly. 

"  O,  bother  the  music,  and  the  tidy,  too,"  an- 
swered Martha;  "if  I  am  in  your  way,  I'll  leave  the 
kitchen,  but  I  am  not  going  to  practice  any  more  to- 
night, or  knit  either." 

"I  am  sure  y' re  never  in  my  way,  but  ye  know 
yer  mother  do  n't  want  ye  to  have  great  rough  hands 
that  are  niver  fit  to  be  seen  in  the  parlor  at  all ;  and 
they'll  be  rough  enough,  sure,  if  ye  wurruk  much  in 
the  kitchen." 

"O,  fiddlesticks  on  the  white  hands;  where's  the 
flour?  I  '11  make  them  white  enough." 

And  Martha  went  dancing  off  to  the  pantry,  with 
a  tin  pan  in  one  hand  and  shaking  a  big  iron  spoon 
at  Hannah,  in  mock  defiance,  with  the  other. 


MARTHA'S  TALENT.  23 

Martha  Grey  was  a  sore  trial  to  her  ladylike 
mother.  Mrs.  Grey  was  very  anxious  that  her  daugh- 
ters should  create  a  stir,  if  not  in  the  world  at  large, 
at  least  in  their  own  immediate  circle,  by  their  pro- 
ficiency in  music. 

Nettie,  the  elder,  a  young  lady  of  twenty  years, 
bid  fair  to  fulfill  all  her  fond  mother's  expectations. 
Having  considerable  talent,  a  naturally  musical  voice, 
combined  with  almost  indefatigable  perseverance  in 
practicing,  she  promised  to  become  a  musician  of 
rathtr  more  than  ordinary  attainments;  but  Martha, 
alas,  gave  no  such  promise.  With  a  fair  talent  for 
almost  every  other  study,  she  entirely  failed  in  this, 
although  she  had  been  compelled  to  sit  at  the  piano, 
practicing  scales  and  finger  exercises  for  a  part  of 
every  day  for  the  past  four  years.  To  be  sure,  she 
had  not  practiced  very  diligently,  for  when  shut  up 
in  the  parlor  to  practice  she  invariably  managed  to 
spend  the  greater  part  of  the  time  in  rearranging  the 
chairs,  or  the  ornaments  on  the  parlor  table,  and 
finally  slipping  out  to  the  kitchen  and  coaxing  Han- 
nah to  let  her  help  cook,  as  in  the  commencement  of 
our  story,  even  at  the  risk  of  a  reprimand  from  her 
mother  for  coming  to  the  table  with  a  face  "as  red 
as  Mrs.  Maloney's, "  and  "such  a  contrast  to  Nettie's 
ladylike  appearance." 

On  the  evening  after  the  above  little  incident, 
while  Nettie  was  practicing  a  new  piece,  and  Martha 
was  curled  up  on  the  divan,  deeply  engrossed  in  Mungo 
Park,  Mrs.  Grey  laid  in  her  complaint  to  her  hus- 
band for  the  one-hundredth  time.  "  I  wish  you 
could  persuade  Martha  to  pay  a  little  more  attention 


24  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

to  her  music.  Really,  I  am  quite  discouraged.  Only 
yesterday,  when  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  was  here  to  tea,  I 
asked  Martha  to  play,  and  she  broke  down  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  first  piece.  I  was  so  mortified.  I  should  not 
have  asked  her  to  play,  but  Nettie  had  gone  out 
riding.  I  thought  perhaps  her  failure  would  make 
her  more  careful  to-day,  but  she  has  been  more  neg- 
ligent than  usual."  And  Mrs.  Grey  sighed  wearily. 

Martha  fidgeted  uneasily;  she  was  not,  however, 
much  afraid  of  her  father's  reproofs.  Not  having 
what  his  wife  called  "a  talent  for  music"  himself,  he 
generally  tried  to  make  excuses  for  his  "stupid" 
daughter.  He  looked  from  Mrs.  Grey  to  Martha, 
who  was  trying  to  look  unconscious. 

"Well,  daughter,  what  have  you  to  say?"  asked 
her  father,  kindly;  "guilty,  or  not  guilty?" 

"Guilty,  papa;"  and  then,  looking  up,  added 
archly,  ' '  but  I  made  the  cake  for  tea,  and  you  know 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald  thought  it  splendid,  and  congratu- 
lated mamma  on  having  such  an  excellent  cook  as 
Hannah.  But  please,  papa,"  more  earnestly,  "I  can 
not  play  on  the  piano  worth  a  cent,  and  I  am  afraid  I 
never  shall ;  but  I  can  cook  a  little,  and  I  like  it  too," 
glancing  at  her  mother's  shocked  face.  "  I  made  the 
waffles  for  tea,  and  you  said  yourself  they  were  very 
nice.  And  /made  the  toast  this  morning,"  triumph- 
antly. 

"Martha,"  said  her  mother,  severely,  "am  I  to 
understand  that  you  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  Han- 
nah's work?  I  certainly  can  not  afford  to  pay  her  for 
work  she  does  not  do." 

"O  mamma,  it  isn't  her  fault,"  pleaded  Martha, 


MARTHA'S  TALENT.  25 

frightened  lest  the  blame  of  her  disobedience  should 
fall  on  Hannah.  "She  only  let  me  because  I  teased 
her  so ;  and  indeed,  mamma,  she  was  so  busy  yester- 
day that  she  did  not  have  time  to  make  cake,  and  so 
I  helped  her." 

"Martha,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  kindly  yet  seriously, 
"I  would  be  better  pleased  if  you  would  attend  to 
your  music,  too.  I  do  n't  object  to  your  cooking, 
though  your  mother  says  it  soils  your  clothes  and 
makes  your  hands  rough ;  but  your  music  lessons  cost 
moiiey,  and  I  should  like  you  to  profit  by  them." 

"But,  papa,  I  just  hate  the  piano.  I  would 
rather  scour  knives  or  churn,  any  day.  I  shall  never 
play  nicely,  like  Nettie;  and  what's  the  use  trying?" 

Mr.  Grey  smiled  at  his  daughter's  vigorous  mode 
of  expression,  and  turned  to  look  into  the  fire.  Mrs. 
Grey  resumed  her  knitting,  while  Martha,  muttering, 
"I  guess  my  name  spoiled  me,"  turned  to  her  book 
again. 

After  a  few  moments  Mr.  Grey  said  to  his  wife : 
"Suppose  we  let  Martha  give  up  her  music,  and  let 
her  do  what  she  likes.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  no 
use  to  punish  her  by  making  her  do  what  she  says 
she  Jiates ;  and  you  know  it  will  be  a  great  saving 
to  my  purse,"  he  added,  looking  slyly  toward  his 
daughter. 

"  O,  papa,  do  you  really  mean  it?  May  I  put 
away  all  my  music,  and  do  something  I  like  ?"  asked 
the  girl,  breathlessly,  as,  throwing  her  book  on  the 
table,  she  danced  across  the  room  to  slip  one  arm 
about  her  father's  neck. 

4 '  There,  there,  wait  a  moment ;  I  have  not  said 
3 


26  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

so  yet,"  laughed  Mr.  Grey.     "I  only  suggested  it  to 
your  mother." 

' '  But  we  have  spent  so  much  money  giving  her 
lessons  that  it  seems  too  bad  to  have  it  all  thrown 
away,"  objected  her  mother. 

' '  Better  throw  that  away,  and  then  stop,  than  to 
keep  throwing  away.  And  if  she  wants  to  be  Bridget, 
give  her  the  chance,  if  it  will  make  her  any  happier." 

"O,  do  say. yes,"  pleaded  Martha,  eagerly.  "I 
can  keep  accounts  and  look  after  the  expenses  splen- 
didly— better  than  you  can,  I  expect,  mamma ;  for  / 
like  it,  and  you  don't." 

Martha's  eager  voice  had  attracted  Nettie's  atten- 
tion, and  she  came  in  to  know  what  had  happened. 
She  contented  herself  with  expressing  her  surprise  at 
some  "people's  tastes."  Mr.  Grey  drew  his  second 
daughter  down  on  his  knee,  telling  her  to  throw  away 
her  music  if  she  wanted  to,  and  declaring  that  one 
genius  in  the  family  was  enough,  any  way. 

The  mother  shed  a  few  tears  over  her  disappoint- 
ment ;  but  finally  comforted  herself  with  the  thought 
that  she  had  one  daughter  that  she  need  not  be 
ashamed  of. 

Martha  was  delighted  with  the  idea  of  being  al- 
lowed to  "  keep  house  instead  of  torturing  that  horrid* 
piano  ;"  and  years  after,  when  her  mother's  health 
failed  and  the  whole  responsibility  of  managing  the 
household  affairs  fell  upon  her,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grey  were  very  thankful  that  they  had  a  daughter 
who  understood  housekeeping  and  cookery,  even 
though  she  could  not  appreciate  Mozart  or  Men- 
delssohn. 


"UST  AS  WELL  AS  {^ENEROUS 


RS.  HARPER  had  just  finished  her  after- 
noon toilet,  and  taken  up  her  basket  of 
„„  patchwork,  when  the  door  bell  rang,  and 

lx  Mrs.  Wells,  a  neighbor,  a  sister  in  the  Church, 
came  in  to  chat  an  hour  or  two.  They  were 
both  earnest  workers,  and  the  conversation  soon 
turned  on  Church  interests. 

"How  much  have  you  concluded  to  give 
toward  the  new  organ,  Sister  Harper?"  asked 
the  visitor. 

"I  have  not  really  decided  yet;  probably 
twenty  dollars." 
"O  Sister  Harper,  you  surely  will  not  stop  at 
twenty  dollars,  or  twice  twenty!  Brother  Brown 
asked  me  to-day  what  I  thought  you  would  give, 
and  I  told  him  not  less  than  one  hundred  dollars, 
any  way." 

"But,  Sister  Wells,  I  can  not  afford  to  give  so 
much.  I  am  obliged  to  pay  Ann  three  and  a  half 
per  week,  and  my  husband's  income  is  not  large." 

"O,  but  you  don't  know  how  to  manage  your 
girls  as  well  as  7  do.  I  was  determined  that  Sister 
Hill  should  not  give  more  than  7,  so  I  subscribed 
one  hundred,  though  I  could  not  see  at  the  time 
where  the  money  was  to  come  from.  So  I  concluded 
to  pay  out  less  for  kitchen  work,  and  now  I  only  pay 


28  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Susan  two  and  a  half  a  week,  and  that  saves  fifty-two 
dollars  during  the  year.  The  other  forty-eight  shall 
be  got  in  some  way.  Susan  objected  at  first,  but 
I  told  her  I  could  not  pay  a  cent  more,  so  she 
gave  in  at  last.  .My  work  is  heavier  than  yours  too. 
Couldn't  you  manage  to  save  some  in  that  way?" 

"Perhaps  I  might,  but  really  I  do  not  feel  like 
asking  Ann  to  work  for  any  less.  She  has  an  invalid 
mother  who  has  to  be  helped." 

"That  is  just  what  Susan  said;  but  you  can't 
believe  the  half  they  say.  They  always  have  some 
such  story  ready  in  case  of  an  emergency." 

' '  That  may  be  true,  but  I  feel  that  we  are  paying 
more  for  an  organ  than  we  can  well  afford,  and  more 
than  is  really  necessary/' 

"Why,  Sister  HarpeH  you  wouldn't  have  us  buy 
a  cheap  instrument  when  the  Presbyterians  have  such 
a  nice  one?" 

"Of  course  I  would,  if  we  can  not  afford  a 
better." 

"Well  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  until  we  can  have 
as  good  as  any  body  else,  and  I  shall  do  all  /  can 
do  to  get  it.  I  am  sorry  you  will  not  give  more 
toward  it." 

"If  I  find  that  I  can  afford  it  I  certainly  shall, 
but  I  must  pay  my  debts  first,"  said  Mrs.  Harper 
pleasantly,  and  so  the  subject  dropped. 

The  organ  was  purchased  and  placed  in  the 
'church.  Every  body  was  pleased,  for  it  was  a  fine 
affair,  even  surpassing  the  one  in  the  neighboring 
church.  Mrs.  Wells  gave  her  one  hundred,  and  Mrs. 
Harper  her  twenty  dollars,  and  others  accordingly, 


BE  JUST  AS  WELL  AS  GENEROUS.  29 

some  less  than  they  were  able  to  afford,  others  more. 
The  Autumn  passed  away  and  Winter  set  in.  Mrs. 
Wells,  in  the  mean  time,  took  frequent  occasion  to 
laugh  at  her  friend  for  what  she  called  her  loose 
financiering.  However,  Mrs.  Harper  still  insisted 
that  she  believed  she  had  done  her  duty,  and  felt 
conscience  clear,  although  she  acknowledged  that  she 
would  have  been  glad  to  have  given  more. 

One  cold  bright  day  in  the  latter  part  of  January 
Mrs.  Harper  called  upon  Mrs.  Wells,  and  asked  her 
to*"go  with  her  to  make  a  few  calls  on  some  sick 
people  in  the  poar  part  of  town.  The  two  ladies 
were  soon  in  the  little  sleigh,  snugly  wrapped  in  their 
robes  and  mufflers,  and  as  the  pony  drew  them  along 
at  a  steady  pace  the  bells  made  pleasant  music.  As 
they  we.re  tucking  themselves  in  Mrs.  Wells  discov- 
ered a  basket  crowded  into  the  corner  of  the  sleigh, 
and  exclaimed  laughingly,  "Well,  Sister  Harper, 
have  you  been  to  market?  or,  are  you  just  going?" 

"Neither,  Sister  Wells,  that  is  what  my  husband 
calls  my  'Commissary  Department.'  I  only  have  a 
few  goodies  that  Ann  put  in  for  a  couple  of  bed- 
ridden old  women  that  I  expect  to  visit  before  we 
get  home." 

"Do  you  take  goodies  to  your  poor  friends  ei>ery 
time  you  go  out?"  asked  Mrs.  Wells  in  a  slightly 
surprised  tone. 

"Not  always,  but  frequently.  It  does  them  so 
much  good  to  think  you  care  for  them.  Somebody 
says,  '  The  nearest  way  to  a  man's  heart  is  by  way 
of  his  stomach,'  and  I  guess  it  is  equally  true  of 
women.  They  seem  to  appreciate  your  efforts  to 


30  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

benefit  their  souls  if  they  find  you  care  for  their 
bodies  as  well." 

''Now  I  call  that  real  selfish,  don't  you?" 

"Well,  it  may  be,  but  we  have  to  take  people  as 
they  are,  not  as  we  would  like  them  to  be.  But 
here  we  are  at  Widow  Smith's." 

Tying  the  pony  to  a  dilapidated  fence  the  two 
ladies  were  soon  in  the  low  room  which  served  as 
kitchen,  parlor,  and  bedroom,  Mrs.  Harper  carrying 
several  little  packages  taken  from  the  basket  in  the 
sleigh.  The  furniture  of  the  room  was  scant,  but 
the  bed  upon  which  the  woman  lay  was  clean  and 
comfortable  looking. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Smith,  how  are  you  feeling  to-day?" 
asked  Mrs.  Harper  cheerily. 

"Much  better,  thank  you;  the  medicine  you  sent 
me  last  week  has  done  me  a  world  of  good.  I  have 
slept  pretty  good  at  night  for  three  or  four  nights. 
And  the  blanket  you  sent  has  been  a  real  bless- 
ing. My  old  bones  need  more  cover  than  when  I 
was  young,  and  since  Jennie  died  there  has  been  no 
one  to  provide  such  things  for  the  old  woman.  To 
be  sure,  Maggie  is  a  good  girl,  but  it  is  as  much  as 
she  can  do  to  buy  what  we  eat  and  pay  house  rent," 
and  the  invalid  wiped  away  a  tear.  f 

' '  Here  are  some  cookies  that  I  have  brought 
you,"  Mrs.  Harper  said  kindly,  "and  a  quarter  of 
tea — my  mother  always  loved  her  tea ;  and  here  is  a 
glass  of  jelly,  real  grape,  that  Ann  bought  from  a 
neighbor  on  purpose  for  you.  If  you  dissolve  a 
spoonful  in  a  glass  of  cold  water  it  will  make  a  very 
pleasant  drink.  And  here  is  a  shoulder  shawl  from 


BE  JUST  AS  WELL  AS  GENEROUS.  31 

Ann  too;  she  said  it  would  be  so  nice  for  you  to 
throw  over  your  shoulders  when  you  feel  like  sitting 
up  a  bit.  O,  yes,  she  can  spare  it  very  well,"  as 
the  woman  seemed  loath  to  take  it.  "I  made  Ann  a 
present  of  a  new  one  at  Christmas,  and  she  said  she 
would  spare  this  for  you.  "So,"  she  added  brightly, 
"my  little  gift  has  benefited  three  persons  already: 
you,  Ann,  and  myself.  But  we  must  go  now,"  and 
they  departed  amid  a  shower  of  thanks  from  the 
sick  woman. 

O\s  soon  as  they  were  seated  in  the  sleigh  Mrs. 
Wells  said,  "Now,  Sister  Harper,  I  never  want  you 
to  plead  poverty  to  me  agfiin.  Why  by  that  old 
woman's  own  story  you  have  already  spent  as  much 
as  one-half  of  your  subscription  for  our  organ.  And 
then  it  seems  you  make  your  hired  girl  presents  be- 
sides. More  than  /  can  do,  I  am  sure.  Besides,  it 
is  only  money  thrown  away." 

"I  don't  think  so,  Sister  Wells;  I  am  sure  Ann 
deserves  all  she  gets,  and  then,  by  helping  her  a  little, 
by  way  of  an  occasional  present,  she  has  a  little 
money  to  spend  on  others,  and  so  she  has  the  oppor- 
tunity to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  giving  as  well  as 
myself." 

Mrs.  Wells  laughed  merrily:  "What  funny  ideas 
you  do  have  about  giving!  Now  /  never  thought 
about  the  luxuiy  of  giving  as  you  call  it.  But  every 
one  to  their  notion." 

"Yes,  that  is  my  way,  you  know,"  Mrs.  Harper 
answered  good  humoredly.  "This  is  our  last  stop- 
ping place,"  as  she  reined  up  the  horse  in  front  of 
a  rickety  old  house  on  a  back  street. 


32  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Up  an  outside  stairway,  that  trembled  and  creaked 
beneath  their  feet,  the  two  women  slowly  climbed, 
each  with  her  arms  full;  for  Mrs.  Wells,  out  of 
sympathy  to  her  friend,  had  volunteered  to  carry  a 
part  of  her  bundles.  Mrs.  Harper  knocked  at  a  door 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs;  a  faint  voice  said,  "Come 
in,"  and  the  two  entered.  Every  thing  in  the  room 
betokened  extreme  poverty.  On  a  low  bed  lay  a 
woman  of  about  forty-five,  pale,  and  emaciated,  while 
by  her  side  lay  a  child  of  perhaps  ten  years,  but  very 
small,  with  hollow  eyes  and  sunken  cheeks,  that  told 
of  suffering  and  want. 

"Is  that  you,  Mrs.  Harper?"  asked  the  woman, 
as  that  lady  bid  her  a  good  afternoon. 

' '  Yes,  Mrs.  Maloney,  it  is  me ;  but  can't  you 
see  me?"  » 

"  No  ma'am,  my  eyes  are  a  deal  worse  than  when 
you  were  here  last.  And  that  ain't  all,  either.  I'm 
afeard  I  shall  niver  see  again,"  said  the  sick  woman 
sadly.  "I  can  just  tell  daylight  from  dark,  and  that 
is  all." 

"But  I  thought  your  eyes  were  so  much  better 
in  the  Fall;  you  told  me  your  medicine  was  help- 
ing them!" 

"Indeed,  it  did,  ma'am;  but,  ye  see,  I've  had 
none  for  a  long  time.  Norah  has  been  sick  and  had  to 
have  medicine,  and  Susan's  wages  are  not  so  good  as 
they  were.  The  lady  she  works  for  said  she  could  n't 
pay  so  much  this  year,  and  so  Susan  had  to  take 
what  was  offered  her,  for  she  couldn't  afford  to  be 
idle.  Mebbe  we  should  n't  be  so  bad  off  and  weak 
like,  but  we  have  had  to  live  saving,  and  don't  get 


BE  JUST  AS  WELL  AS  GENEROUS.  33 

many  nice  things  to  eat,  and  Norah  and  me  have  no 
taste  for  dry  bread  and  p'taties  now.  Susan  only 
gets  two  and  a  half  a  week,  and  it  don't  go  very  far 
in  buyin'  clothes  for  four  and  food  for  three.  Neddie 
earns  enough  mostly  to -pay  the  rint,  and  sometimes  a 
few  cents  over.  If  I  could  get  somethin'  nice  for 
Norah  to  eat  I  shouldn't  care  for  myself,"  laying  her 
thin  hand  on  the  child's  head.  "She's  been  longin' 
for  an  orange  all  day,  poor  child.  But  who  is  that 
with  you?"  as  Mrs.  Wells  moved  uneasily  in  her 
clrair. 

"It  is  Mrs.  Wells,  a  friend  of  mine ;  and  here  is 
an  orange  for  Norah,"  and  she  placed  it  in  the  child's 
hand. 

"  O,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Maloney  answered, 
gratefully.  "Wells — Wells,"  she  repeated,  slowly; 
"  why,  that 's  the  name  of  the  lady  that  Susan  wur- 
ruks  for." 

Mrs.  Wells  got  up  hastily,  and  came  to  the  bed- 
side. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Maloney,  Susan  lives  with  me;  but, 
really,  I  didn't  know  you  were  so  bad  off  as  this," 
she  said,  earnestly. 

"Susan  is  not  the  one  to  bother  other  people 
with  her  throubles  without  the  asking,"  the  sick 
woman  answered,  a  little  proudly;  "and  if  I  was 
well  enough  to  care  for  Norah,  ye'd  never  hear  ov 
the  likes  ov  me  cornplainin'  to  any  one." 

Mrs.  Harper  glanced  at  the  face  of  her  friend, 
and  saw  the  tears  of  sorrow  and  wounded  pride  trick- 
ling down  her  cheeks,  and  hastily  interrupted  Mrs. 
Maloney,  saying:  "We  have  brought  a  nice  basket 


34  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

of  dainties,  that  will  be  good  for  you  as  well  as 
Norah,"  and  she  began  to  undo  the  parcels.  "I 
knew  you  were  not  able  to  bake,  so  I  have  brought 
you  a  loaf  and  some  cakes  of  Ann's  baking ;  I'll 
warrant  them  nice.  Here  are  some  dried  peaches, 
and  a  can  of  plums ;  and  here  is  a  paper  full  of 
crullers  for  Neddie — not  for  you  nor  Norah,  remem- 
ber ;  they  are  too  rich  for  you,  but  if  Neddie  is  like 
my  boys,  I  am  sure  he  will  appreciate  them." 

Mrs.  Maloney  murmured  a  "God  bless  you,"  as 
she  covered  her  face  with  the  corner  of  the  ragged 
quilt,  to  hide  her  tears. 

As  the  ladies  turned  to  go,  Mrs.  Wells  only  said, 
"I  will  see  you  again  soon,  Mrs.  Maloney,"  and 
hurriedly  left  the  room. 

When  they  were  once  more  in  their  sleigh,  Mrs. 
Wells  turned  to  her  companion  and  said,  excitedly, 
while  the  tears  were  streaming  down  her  face,  "Sis- 
ter Harper,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this,  instead 
of  bringing  me  here  in  this  way?  You  certainly 
know  me  too  well  to  suppose  that  I  would  willingly 
be  the  cause  of  such  suffering  and  privation !" 

"Indeed,  my  dear  sister,  I  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  that  the  woman  was  Susan's  mother ;  I  have 
not  been  there  since  the  Autumn  until  to-day,  and  I 
did  n't  even  know  that  Susan's  name  was  Maloney.  I 
heard  yesterday,  through  our  pastor,  that  the  woman 
was  in  great  need,  and  only  came  to  see  what  I  could 
do  for  her." 

"0,  what  a  blunder  I  have  made,"  sobbed  Mrs. 
Wells;  "  I  did  n't  suppose  that  I  was  robbing  any  one 
when  I  reduced  Susan's  wages.  If  that  child  dies, 


BE  JUST  AS  WELL  AS  GENEROUS.  35 

or  her  mother  loses  her  sight,  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself." 

"We  are  all  liable  to  make  mistakes,"  said  Mrs. 
Harper,  soothingly,  "and  that  is  one  reason  that  I 
am  so  slow  to  promise,  unless  I  am  sure  I  can  af- 
ford it." 

When  Mrs.  Weils  reached  home,  her  first  work 
was  to  send  for  Susan  to  come  to  the  sitting-room. 
The  girl  came,  and  as  her  mistress  looked  at  her  she 
wondered  she  had  never  noticed  before  how  tired 
an«T anxious  she  looked.  Bidding  her  be  seated, 
she  said,  "I  have  just  been  to  visit  your  mother, 
Susan."  The  girl  started  uneasily.  "Why  did  you 
not  tell  me  how  needy  you  were  at  home?" 

Susan  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "I 
was  afraid  you  would  think  I  just  told  it  to  get 
my  wages  raised,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  next  time  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about 
such  things,  and  not  wait  for  me  to  find  it  out  when 
it  is,  perhaps,  too  late  to  do  any  good." 

"O  Mrs.  Wells,  is  Norah  worse?"  cried  the  girl, 
with  whitening  cheeks. 

"No,  I  guess  not,  Susan;  but  I  am  afraid  that 
it  is  too  late  to  cure  your  mother's  eyes.  I  think 
you  had  better  go  to  your  mother  to-night,  as  she 
needs  you  badly ;  or,  perhaps  you  had  better  wait 
until  to-morrow,  and  then  stay  awhile  with  her. " 

"Please,  Mrs.  Wells,  interrupted  Susan,  eagerly, 
"I  think  mother  needs  my  wages  worse  than  she 
does  me  ;  if  I  stop  work,  there  will  be  nothing  for 
them  to  live  on." 


36  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"Never  mind  that,  Susan;  your  wages  may  go 
on,  just  the  same ;  and  here  is  five  dollars — it  is  all 
I  have  just  now — take  it,  and  get  some  medicine  and 
nourishing  food  for  your  mother  and  sister;  and 
from  this  on  your  wages  will  be  the  same  that  they 
were  last  year — three  dollars  and  a  half  per  week.". 

"You  are  very  kind,  indeed,"  sobbed  Susan, 
completely  overcome  by  this  unexpected  kindness; 
"and  I  '11  work  my  fingers  off  to  please  you,  when  I 
come  back." 

"That  would  be  rather  too  much,"  said  Mrs. 
Wells,  smiling  through  her  tears.  "Now,  you  had 
better  go  to  your  work ;  I  would  like  you  to  do  up 
some  extra  baking,  so  that  I  can  do  without  you  a 
week,  if  possible." 

"Indeed,  and  I  will,  ma'am,"  and  Susan  left  the 
room,  with  the  smiles  and  tears  struggling  for  the 
mastery. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  bed  comforter  and 
blankets,  a  pair  of  sheets,  and  several  pairs  of  woolen 
stockings  and  skirts  for  the  sick  girl,  left  at  Mrs. 
Maloney's  door  by  the  expressman ;  and  in  the  even- 
ing Susan  came,  with  a  market-basket  well  filled  with 
such  things  as  the  poor  like,  and  yet  so  seldom  are 
permitted  to  enjoy,  and  with  the  extra  five  dollars 
from  Mrs.  Wells,  besides  her  wages  for  two  weeks  in 
advance,  in  her  pocket. 

Through  the  providence  of  God,  Norah  recov- 
ered, and  Mrs.  Maloney's  eyes  were  partially  cured, 
but  she  continued  an  invalid. 

Mrs.  Wells  always  took  pains  to  send  some  little 


BE  JUST  AS  WELL  AS  GENEROUS.  37 

dainty  to  the  sick  woman  when  Susan  made  her 
weekly  visit,  and  she  never  again  undertook  to  re- 
duce the  wages  of  the  poor  in  order  that  she 
might  increase  her  own  subscription  to  benevolent 
enterprises,  or  to  foster  Church  pride ;  but  in  all 
her  giving  she  was  careful  to  be  just  as  well  as 
generous. 


MHE  PREACHER'S  ^IFE  AT  CONFERENCE. 


I\  PRESUME  there  is  no  one  who  more 
J  thoroughly  enjoys  an  annual  conference 
than  the  preacher's  wife,  the  preacher  not 
excepted.  She  has  had  a  year  of  earnest  work 
j^, among  her  husband's  people,  and  she  has  looked 
forward  to  this  annual  gathering  as  the  one 
bright  spot  in  what  would  otherwise,  perhaps, 
have  proved  a  dull  year.  The  best  talent  of  the 
r*  Church  is  to  be  gathered  there ;  the  best  speak- 
ers are  to  occupy  pulpit  and  platform  ;  and  to 
this  she  looks  forward  as  a  season  of  solid  en- 
joyment and  profit ;  for,  no  matter  how  elo- 
quent her  husband  may  be,  she  is,  if -a  true  wife,  too 
much  interested  in  his  success  to  enjoy  his  sermons 
as  she  would  those  of  a  stranger.  But  here  she  can 
sit  and  enjoy  the  sermons,  even  though  the  speaker 
should  make  a  few  grammatical  blunders,  or  should 
occasionally  fail  to  make  a  point  as  "clear  as  sun- 
shine." Or,  if  one  of  the  numerous  agents,  usually 
present,  should  chance  to  be  prosy  or  occupy  too 
much  time,  she  can  even  endure  that,  in  the  hope 
that  a  certain  particular  friend  of  hers  may  profit  by 
the  infliction,  and  not  "go  and  do  likewise." 

Here  is  a  preacher's  wife  who  comes  to  conference 
for  the  first  time  in  many  years.  Her  hair,  like  that 
of  her  husband,  has  grown  gray  while  she  has  been 


THE  PREACHER'S  WIFE  AT  CONFERENCE.  39 

toiling  in  the  Master's  vineyard.  She  feels  that  for 
her  there  are  only  a  few  more  years  of  toil,  and -then 
comes  eternal  rest ;  and  she  comes  up  to  this  annual 
gathering,  this  Feast  of  the  Harvest,  as  to  a  sort  of 
reunion,  the  last,  perhaps,  for  her,  until  the  great 
"  Harvest  Home." 

Here  is  one  who  could  not  be  with  us  last  year. 
A  little  home  treasure  required  all  her  care  then — but 
now  the  little  one  is  laid  away  among  strangers  in  the 
village  graveyard,  and  the  mother  is  with  us  to-day, 
claoT  in  the  habiliments  of  woe.  Gladly  would  she 
have  denied  herself  indulgence  if  she  could  have  kept 
her  treasure ;  but  it  could  not  be. 

There  sits  another,  who  has  come  from  a  poor 
circuit,  from  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars,  with 
two  hundred  of  it  unpaid.  But,  by  dint  of  economy 
and  a  few  music-scholars,  or  by  teaching  the  village 
school,  she  has  managed  to  keep  even ;  and  at  her 
husband's  earnest  entreaty,  she  decided  to  come  to 
conference,  even  at  the  risk  of  hearing  some  of  the 
brethren  hint,  in  no  very  polite  terms,  that  preachers' 
wives  are  very  much  in  the  way,  "taking  up  some 
of  the  best  places,  which  wou-ld  otherwise  have  been 
reserved  for  traveling  agents  and  visiting  brethren." 

And  here  is  a  young  wife,  as  yet  but  slightly  ac- 
quainted with  the  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  of 
the  itinerancy,  and  she  looks  on  with  curiosity  and 
surprise  at  the  amount  of  business  done  and  the 
number  of  speeches  made  in  so  short  a  time. 

But,  of  whatever  age  or  circumstances,  she  comes 
to  reap  the  benefits  and  enjoy  the  privileges  which 
may  there  offer  themselves.  And  enjoy  them  she 


40  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

does  ;  in  a  measure,  too,  which  her  husband,  who 
goes  "up  to  Jerusalem"  yearly,  fails  to  appreciate. 
I  remember  sitting  in  the  same  pew,  for  several  suc- 
cessive sessions  of  our  annual  conferences,  with  a 
preacher's  wife  whom  I  had  never  met  at  such  .a 
gathering  before.  She  told  me  it  was  her  first  visit 
for  ten  years.  She  was  a  sweet-faced,  patient-looking 
woman,  just  such  a  one  as  you  would  expect  to  see 
deny  herself  all  the  pleasures  that  others  might  enjoy 
them  ;  and  the  way  she  literally  feasted  on  the  intel- 
lectual bounties  placed  before  her  added  greatly  to 
my  own  enjoyment  of  the  same. 

The  words  of  our  conference  hymn,  "And  are 
we  ye,t  alive?"  seem  peculiarly  appropriate  to  the 
preachers  themselves  after  the  year's  battle,  but  it  is 
none  the  less  so  to  the  preacher's  wife.  Her  hus- 
band's troubles  have  been  hers,  and  she  has  probably 
felt  them  in  even  a  greater  degree  than  he  ;  for  in 
his  case  he  has  had  the  satisfaction  of  taking  an  act- 
ive part  in  the  contest,  and  putting  to  rights  whatever 
it  was  in  his  power  to  right.  But  the  wife,  in  most 
cases,  must  simply  endure  ;  and  all  know  that  endur- 
ing is  much  more  trying  than  doing.  When  hinder- 
ances  come  in  our  pathway,  it  is  a  real  satisfaction 
to  be  able  to  take  hold  and  lift  them  out  of  our 
way,  even  though  it  requires  an  effort  to  do  so  ;  but 
to  see  our  pathway  obstructed,  and  not  be  able  to 
lift  a  finger — to  sit  in  silence  (in  patience,  if  possible,) 
until  another  removes  the  obstacle,  no  matter  how 
tardy  their  motions  may  be — requires  a  full  supply 
of  grace  ;  how  much,  no  one  knows  better  than  the 
preacher's  wife.  And  now,  as  they  sing,  her  memory 


THE  PREACHER'S  WIFE  AT  CONFERENCE.          41 

carries  her  back  to  this  or  that  dark  hour  when 
troubles  came  so  thick  and  fast  that  it  seemed  almost 
impossible  to  bear  them. 

"  But  out  of  all  the  Lord 
Hath  brought  us  by  his  love." 

And  our  hearts  grow  thankful  as  we  remember  his 
great  mercy.  How 'solemn  'the  moment  when  we' 
bow  around  the  sacramental  board;  and,  as  we  com- 
memorate the  death  and  sufferings  of  our  Redeemer, 
worfeel  that  it  is  a  blessed  privilege  to  help  bear  the 
Gospel  to  a  sin-stricken  world.  Where  the  preach; 
er's  wife  goes  to  conference  to  be  benefited  by  what 
she  sees  and  hears  (and  I  trust  there  are  few  who  go 
for  any  other  purpose),  the  time  and  money  she 
spends  is  a  good  investment,  both  for  herself  and  the 
people  among  whom  her  lot  may  be  cast. 

The  better  people  understand  the  working  of  our 
Church  machinery,  the  more  interest  will  they  feel  in 
the  Church  ;  and  the  preacher's  wife  who  goes  to 
conference  and  watches  carefully  the  transaction  of 
the  business,  who  hears  the  reports  of  our  benevolent 
institutions,  the  calls  that  are  made  upon  our  Church 
funds,  will  better  understand  the  needs  of  the  Church, 
and  will  know  better  how  to  work  for  her  interest  in 
the  future ;  and  I  often  wish  the  entire  membership 
of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  could  attend  an 
annual  conference  at  least  once  in  two  years.  They 
would,  perhaps,  be  enabled  to  see  what  some  have 
failed  hitherto  to  see ;  namely,  how  small  their  sacri- 
fices are,  both  in  gifts  and  work,  compared  with  the 
real  needs  of  the  Church.  ^ 

4 


BEEPING  THE  l^ULES. 


SUPPOSE  the  probationers  will  be  re- 
ceived  into  full  membership   next   Sab- 
bath, will  they  not?"  asked  Lulu  Rayburn 
,,--  of  her   friend,    Helen   Wynne,    as    they  sat   in 
Helen's  cozy  room,  busy  at  some  fancy  work  as 
they  talked  familiarly  together. 

"Yes,"  answered   Helen,    looking  up  from 
counting  threads.      "Of  course  you  are  going 
r  >    to  be  received?" 

' '  My  name  was  read  as  one  of  the  '  elect, '  I 
believe  ;  but  I  hardly  think  I  will  go  any  further," 
said  Lulu,  with  an  effort  to  appear  careless. 
"You    surely  are   not   in    earnest!"   and    Helen 
dropped  her  work  in  surprise. 

' '  Yes,  I  am,  though.  Are  you  going  to  be  re- 
ceived ?" 

' '  Yes,  I  expect  to  be ;  though  I  scarcely  feel 
myself  worthy  of  a  place  in  the  Church,"  Helen  an- 
swered in  a  low  tone.  "  But  why  are  you  not?" 

"O,  well,"  laughing  a  little  uneasily,  "I  am  not 
'worthy,'  as  you  say;  and,  then,  I  only  gave  my 
name  to  the  Church  because  I  was  over-persuaded, 
and  I  guess  I  will  have  it  dropped." 

"But  you  were  in  earnest,  surely,  last  Winter," 
and  Helen's  face  showed  the  surprise  she  felt. 

"Yes,  I  was  in  earnest  then,  I  suppose;    but  I 


KEEPING  THE  RULES.  43 

do  n't  feel  like  going  any  further  now,  and  I  do  n't 
like  the  idea  of  being  coaxed  to  be  a  Christian.  I 
am  going  to  have  my  name  dropped,  and  some  time 
when  there  is  no  religious  excitement,  if  I  feel  like 
it,  I  will  unite  with  the  Church  again." 

"Better  not  depend  too  much  on  feeling,  Lulu, 
but  be  a  Christian  from  principle.  If  you  wait  for 
some  time  when  there  is  no  religious  excitement, 
you  will  very  likely  not  'feel  like  it.'  As  to  being 
'coaxed,'  I  am  sure  it  took  a  great  deal  of  coaxing 
to  ge"t  me  to  take  the  first  step,  and  you  were  among 
the  most  earnest  pleaders  that  I  had ;  and  I  have  been 
glad  every  day  since  that  I  allowed  you  to  influence 
me  to  give  my  heart  to  the  Savior's  keeping." 

"Well,  Helen,  I  am  glad  you  enjoy  yourself  in 
that  way;  but  it  has  never  been  much  pleasure  to 
me ;  and,  as  I  do  not  believe  in  doing  penance,  I 
have  concluded  not  to  punish  the  flesh  by  trying  to 
obey  Church  rules.  If  the  Church  was  not  so  strict, 
I  would  like  to  remain  in  it ;  for  it  is  more  respectable 
nowadays  to  belong  to  the  Church  than  to  be  an 
'outsider,'  but  I  am  not  willing  to  give  up  every 
thing,"  and  Lulu  gave  her  shoulder  an  impatient 
shrug. 

"But  the  Church  only  asks  you  to  give  'up  the 
things  which  it  considers  hurtful  to  your  religious 
prosperity,"  said  Helen. 

"I  prefer  being  my  own  judge  in  such  matters, 
and  my  'religious'  prosperity  is  not  enhanced  by 
keeping  me  from  harmless  amusements." 

"  Not  harmless  amusements,  of  course.  But  what 
do  you  call  harmless  amusements,  Lulu  ?" 


44  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS.      • 

"Well,  dancing  is  one.  I'm  sure  I  don't  see 
any  harm  in  it ;  and  I  would  go  without  my  supper 
any  day  for  the  sake  of  a  dance.  Why,  only  three 
weeks  ago  I  dressed  in  fifteen  minutes,  to  catch  the 

evening  train,  so  as  to  reach  M in  time  for  that 

big  dancing  party." 

"O  Lou,  you  surely  have  not  been  dancing!" 
and  Helen's  voice  and  face  were  full  of  pain. 

"Of  course  I  have  —  more  than  once,  too.  I 
would  have  told  you  before,  but  I  knew  you  would 
look  so  horrified.  I  suppose  if  the  leaders  had  known 
it  they  would  not  have  placed  my  name  among  the 
'recommended.'  " 

"No,  I  presume  not,"  answered  Helen,  slowly. 
"But  were  you  really  happy  in  such  amusement?" 

"  May  be  not  quite  as  happy  as  I  could  wish;  but 
we  had  a  good  time,  and  you  know  the  preacher  tells 
us  not  to  expect  perfect  happiness  here  below." 

"O  Lulu!"  and  Helen's  voice  Avas  full  of  tender 
reproach,  "how  can  you  talk  so  lightly?  I  am  sure 
you  do  not  feel  as  careless  as  you  would  make  me 
believe.  I  can  not  say  whether  dancing  is  wrong  in 
itself  or  not ;  but  you  know  a  dancing  Church  mem- 
ber is  never  ready  to  pray  or  talk  for  Christ." 

"  I  know  that.  But  what  is  the  use  of  being  so. 
particular?  Why  ran't  we  have  a  good  time  Avithout 
being  thought  Avicked  and  sinful?" 

"And  Avhat  do  you  call  having  a  good  time,  my 
dear?"  asked  a  pleasant  voice,  that  caused  the  two 
young  ladies  to  look  toward  the  door,  in  which  stood 
Mrs.  Wynne,  Helen's  mother.  "I  have  not  been 
eavesdropping,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  "and  can  not 


KEEPING  THE  RULES.  45 

be  sure  of  the  subject,  but  just  as  I  was  about  to 
pass  your  open  door  I  heard  Lulu's  question,  and, 
Yankee-like,  will  answer  it  by  asking  another.  So, 
Lulu,  give  us  your  ideas;"  and  Mrs.  Wynne  took  the 
chair  her  daughter  had  brought  forward,  and  waited 
for  the  answer. 

"  O,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  answered  the 
young  lady,  hesitatingly.  "Going  to  parties,  boat 
excursions,  picnics,  and  such  places  where  we  can 
have  a  little  fun." 

*"  And  you  call  that  having  a  good  time,  I  sup- 
pose, "  said  Mrs.  Wynne,  gently. 

"Why,  yes.  Don't  every  body — at  least  young 
folks?" 

"I  suppose  they  do,  generally;  and  we  all  need 
recreation  of  some  sort ;  but  the  danger  is,  that  in 
seeking  for  pleasure  we  may  pass  by  it.  People  who 
seek  for  pleasure  usually  have  a  very  erroneous  con- 
ception of  what  constitutes  a  good  time." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Wynne,  I  thought  it  was  natural  to 
seek  for  pleasure." 

"I  presume  that  it  is,  to  the  unconverted  heart; 
but  happiness  is  seldom  found  for  the  seeking.  It  is 
only  when  we  forget  ourselves  in  striving  to  make 
others  happy  that  we  find  our  greatest  and  most  un- 
alloyed pleasure." 

Lulu  Rayburn  made  no  reply  to  her  friend's 
words  for  some  time.  At  last  she  said,  with  a 
sigh: 

"Well,  Mrs.  Wynne,  I  should  like  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian, but  it  costs  so  much.  The  Church  wants  us  to 
give  up  cvcty  thing." 


46  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"No,  my  dear,  not  every  thing.  The  Church 
only  asks  you  to  forego  what  it  considers  hurtful." 

"And  the  Church  wants  to  judge  for  me." 

"Is  it  not  wise  to  allow  those  who  are  older  and 
more  experienced  than  yourself  to  judge  or  decide  for 
you  ?  The  rules  and  regulations  of  each  Protestant 
Church  organization  have  been  drawn  up  by  persons 
of  established  piety  and  good  judgment ;  and  these 
rules  are  not  as  a  penance,  but  as  a  safeguard  to 
keep  you  from  harm,.  If  all  who  take  on  themselves 
the  name  of  Christ  would  strive  earnestly  to  please 
God ;  if,  when  about  to  engage  in  amusements  or 
any  thing  of  a  worldly  nature,  they  would  ask  them- 
selves the  question,  Will  this  be  pleasing  to  God  ? 
can  I  ask  his  blessing  upon  me  in  doing  this  ? — they 
Avould  have  but  little  difficulty  in  living  up  to  the 
requirements  of  the  Church." 

"And  so  you  think  I  do  not  try  to  please  God?" 
Lulu  said,  a  little  nervously. 

"  I  do  not  presume  to  judge  you;  for  your  own 
conscience  will  answer,  if  you  will  listen.  But  per- 
sons who  have  the  fear  of  God,  in  its  right  sense, 
before  their  eyes,  are  a  law  unto  themselves,  and 
they  scarcely  think  whether  the  rules  of  Church  gov- 
ernment allow  or  forbid;  for  God  is  in  all  their 
thoughts.  My  dear  Lulu,  the  remedy  for  your  per- 
plexity is  very  simple.  Get  near  to  God,  and  you 
will  soon  lose  all  desire  for  those  amusements  which 
do  not  honor  God.  Your  question  reminds  me  of  an 
anecdote  of  Bishop  M'llvaine.  A  young  lady  who, 
like  you,  was  worrying  over  Church  restraints,  asked 
him  the  question,  '  Is  it  wrong  for  Christians  to 


KEEPING  THE  RULES.  47 

dance  ?'  The  bishop's  answer  was  given  gently  but 
firmly :  '  My  dear,  Christians  do  not  want  to  dance. ' 
And  to  you,  if  you  will  strive  to  love  God  with  all 
your  heart,  dancing  and  card-playing,  with  other 
questionable  forms  of  amusement,  will  soon  lose  all 
their  sweetness  to  you.  The  only  sure  remedy  for 
these  difficulties  is  a  continued  hiding  behind  the 
cross.  Clinging  to  Christ  will  take  away  your  desire 
for  those  things  which  are  not  for  your  good,  either 
temporally  or  spiritually." 


BERTIE'S  MEMPTATION. 


E  day  had  been  dull  and  gloomy.     Just 
such  a  day  as  November  can  give — rainy 
and  dark;  not  a* regular  pour-down,   but  a 
/u   continual  drizzle,  drizzle,  such  as  takes  all  the 
buoyancy  out  of  every  one,  -except  it  be  a  fun- 
loving  boy. 

The  village  school  was  out,  and  the  boys 
and  girls  turned  their  steps  homeward.  The 
girls,  wrapped  in  their  water-prooft,  walked 
slowly  along,  talking  in  subdued  tones,  as  if 
their  spirits  had  settled  down  to  a  level  with 
the  weather.  The  boys  dashed  out,  regardless  of  the 
falling  rain  or  of  the  mud  beneath  their  feet,  rushing 
past  the  girls,  apparently  forgetful  that  they  were 
splashing  dirty  water  upon  them,  or  that  the  teacher 
had  said:  "Go  home  quietly." 

After  a  race  of  about  four  blocks,  Albert  Forbes, 
a  boy  of  some  sixteen  years,  left  his  companions  to 
continue  their  race,  while  he  opened  the  gate  in  front 
of  a  respectable-looking  residence,  and  ran  up  the 
walk,  whistling  merrily  as  he  went.  With  a  bound 
he  landed  on  the  upper  step,  utterly  ignoring  the 
fact  that  there  were  two  below  it,  and  swinging  the 
door  open  with  rather  a  positive  motion,  stopped  his 
whistling  to  call  out,  eagerly:  "O  mother!" 

A  fretful  voice   from   the   sitting-room   answered 


BERTIE'S  TEMPTATION.  49 

him  with,  "O  Bertie,  I  wish  you  would  come  home 
more  quietly.  My  head  aches,  and  you  shake  my 
nerves  until  I  feel  as  if  I  should  fly ;  your  brother 
never  comes  into  the  house  in  that  way.  There, 
no\v!"  as  he  entered  the  room  and  threw  his  hat  on 
the  lounge,  instead  of  hanging  it  in  its  proper  place; 
"do  pick  up  your  hat;  you  know  that  is  not  the 
place  for  it;"  adding,  in  a  despairing  tone,  "O  dear! 
I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  learn  to  be  orderly." 

By  this  time  the  light  was  all  gone  from  the  boy's 
fac«Pand,  muttering  that  he  couldn't  "always  be 
thinking,"  he  turned  and  went  to  the  parlor,  where 
he  found  his  elder  sister,  a  young  lady  of  twenty, 
poring  over  the  pages  of  a  new  book. 

She  looked  up  as  her  brother  entered  the  room, 
and  said,  a  little  impatiently,  "Close  the  door." 

Bertie  closed  the  door,  and,  walking  slowly  across 
the  room  to  a  front  window,  stood  looking  out. 

His  sister's  eyes  followed  him,  and,  catching  a 
glimpse  of  his  not  over-clean  boots,  she  exclaimed: 
"O  Bert,  look  at  your  feet!  How  can  you  come 
into  the  parlor  so?  the  carpet  will  be  spoiled.  There! 
your  toes  are  touching  the  curtain." 

Bertie  looked  down  at  his  feet,  and  then,  slowly 
drawing  them  away  from  the  curtain,  he  began  whist- 
ling a  tune,  at  the  same  time  drumming  an  accom- 
paniment with  his  knuckles  on  the  casement. 

His  sister  turned  her  eyes  again  to  her  book,  but 
her  brother's  noise  seemed  to  annoy  her,  and  at  last 
she  said,  in  no  very  amiable  tone,  "Do,  Bert,  stop 
that  noise.  I  do  n't  see  why  you  can  't  be  more  gen- 
teel; Fred  never  does  so." 
5 


50  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"  I  wonder  when  I  shall  hear  the  last  of  my  broth- 
er's perfections?"  asked  Bertie,  scornfully.  "Of 
course,  he  never  does  wrong,  and  I  ought  to  take 
him  as  my  model.  It 's  nothing  but  'Bert,  don't  do 
this,'  or  '  Do  n't  do  that,'  and  '  Why  can  't  you  be  po- 
lite, like  Fred  ?'  from  one  week  to  the  next.  I  only 
hope  that  when  I  am  twenty- five  I  shall  be  capable 
of  doing  something  else  besides  oiling  my  hair  and 
talking  soft  talk  to  the  ladies.  Where  's  Nellie  ?" 

"Gone  on  an  errand  for  me,"  replied  his  sister, 
without  looking  up. 

' '  O  dear !  I  wish  I  had  gone  nutting  with  Ed 
Cole  and  Frank  Howell.  They  teased  me  to  go,  but 
mother  always  frets  so  when  I  go  with  them,"  and, 
with  a  restless,  dissatisfied  air,  Bertie  left  the  parlor, 
and  went  to  his  own  room. 

You  must  not  imagine,  dear  reader,  that  Mrs. 
Forbes  was  lacking  in  love  for  this  noisy,  restless 
boy  of  hers  ;  far  from  it.  She  loved  him  dearly ;  but, 
being  in  delicate  health  herself,  she  preferred  quiet, 
and  did  not  consider  that  a  healthy  boy  of  sixteen 
could  not  sit  down  and  keep  quiet  as  easily  as  a 
.  woman  of  forty-five.  Her  eldest  son  was  what  is 
called  a  "ladies'  man,"  in  the  better  sense  of  that 
word — polite,  soft-voiced,  and  always  ready  to  do  the 
agreeable,  provided  there  was  no  hard  work  in  it. 
To  his  mother  and  sister  Fred  was  perfection,  and 
they  had  sounded  his  praise  in  the  ears  of  his  brother 
until  he  had  become  tired  of  the  unpleasant  contrast, 
and  so  prejudiced  him  against  Fred  that  he  could  not 
appreciate  the  good  qualities  he  did  possess. 

Mr.  Forbes,  like  too  many  husbands  and  fathers, 


BERTIE'S  TEMPTATION.  51 

in  this  fast  age,  was  too  busy  trying  to  meet  the 
family  expenses  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  wants 
of  his  youngest  boy,  except  to  see  that  he  was  prop- 
erly clothed  and  sent  to  school. 

Allie,  the  sister  mentioned  before,  was  kind  and 
ladylike,  in  her  way,  but  she  had  not  the  patience  to 
bear  with  her  younger  brother's  romping,  boisterous 
ways. 

However,  Bertie  had  one  warm  friend,  who  thought 
him  "the  nicest  brother  in  the  world,"  and  that  was 
NeflTe,  the  youngest  of -the  family,  a  girl  of  fourteen. 
Nellie  was  never  so  busy  but  she  could  leave  book 
or  work  for  a  game  of  ball  or  croquet,  often  in  secret 
preferring  the  former,  although  she  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  say  so  in  the  presence  of  her  elder  brother 
and  sister. 

Bertie's  room  failed  to  offer  any  attraction  this 
evening,  and  finally  he  left  it,  saying  to  himself.  "I 
believe  I  will  go  over  to  Ed  Cole's,  and  see  if  they 
have  gone  nutting.  They  '11  be  glad  to  see  me, any  way. 
I  wish  Allie  would  do  her  own  errands,  and  let  Nell 
stay  at  home  when  I  want  her ;  I  like  her  best  of  all. 
I  do  n't  care  if  she  is  n't  ladylike,  she  is  jolly  good 
company,  anyhow." 

Bertie  found  Ed  Cole  had  not  gone  nutting,  but 
he  and  two  or  three  other  boys  were  going  up  town 
to  "look  around,"  and  they  begged  him  to  go  with 
-  them.  Bertie  knew  that  his  parents  did  not  approve 
of  his  loafing  the  streets  at  any  time,  and  especially 
in  such  company;  but  the  temptation  was  strong, 
and  when  the  boys  hinted  that  he  was  afraid  to  go 
down  town  without  his  mother,  this  decided  him.  He 


52  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

determined  to  show  them  that  he  was  old  enough  to 
go  down  town  once  without  asking  leave ;  but  it  was 
with  a  dissatisfied  feeling  that  he  locked  arms  with  a 
rough  boy,  two  years  his  senior,  and  went  through 
a  back  street,  to  avoid  passing  his  own  door. 

In  the  mean  time  sister  Nellie  had  returned  home 
and  missed  her  favorite  brother.  Allie  had  not  seen 
him  since  he  left  the  parlor,  and  his  mother  pre- 
sumed he  was  in  his  room.  But  no  Bertie  came  to 
tea,  and  Mr.  Forbes  was  too  hurried  to  inquire  after 
him.  Eight  o'clock  came,  and  he  had  not  returned. 
The  mother  grew  uneasy  and  went  to  the  window 
every  few  minutes,  trying  to  pierce  into  the  dark- 
ness, or  listening  for  his  footsteps  on  the  gravel. 
Allie  took  up  a  book  and  tried  to  read,  but  her  sis- 
terly anxiety  was  too  strong  for  her  to  enjoy  that 
favorite  pastime.  Nellie  sat  crocheting,  but  her  face 
was  very  anxious,  and  twice  she  asked  Fred  in  a 
whisper  if  he  would  n't  go  and  look  for  him.  But 
Fred  only  laughed  lightly,  and  said  Bert  was  able  to 
take  care  of  himself.  When,  however,  the  clock 
struck  and  the  boy  had  not  returned  they  were  all 
thoroughly  alarmed. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Forbes  had  locked  his 
office  and  was  walking  briskly  toward  home.  As  he 
turned  a  corner  of  the  street  he  saw  a  crowd  in  front 
of  him  and  heard  loud,  taunting  words  mingled  with 
oaths,  and  as  he  came  nearer  he  saw  two  boys  grap- 
pling each  other,  while  the  crowd  cheered  them  on. 
It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  when  the  larger 
of  the  two  dealt  his  antagonist  a  blow  that  sent  him 
reeling  backward,  and  he  fell  heavily  to  the  pave- 


BERTIE'S  TEMPTATION.  53 

ment,  his  head  striking  the  curbstone.  Mr.  Forbes 
pressed  through  the  crowd  to  see  if  the  boy  was 
hurt,  the  idlers  giving  way  when  they  saw  who  it 
was.  He  held  his  lantern  so  that  the  light  could  fall 
on  the  upturned  face.  He  started  back  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise  and  terror  as  he  recognized  the 
face  of  his  youngest  boy,  pale  as  death,  and  uncon- 
scious. Two  bystanders  volunteered  to  carry  him 
home,  while  the  father  hastened  home  to  prepare  his 
family  for  the  shock.  Mrs.  Forbes  met  them  at  the 
doOr^  with  a  terror-stricken  face  and  led  the  way  to 
Bertie's  room,  while  the  sisters  clung  to  each  other 
and  sobbed  in  affright  as  they  saw  the  pale  face  and 
limp  form. 

By  the  aid  of  proper  restoratives  Albert  -was,  in 
a  short  time,  restored  to  consciousness,  as  he  had 
only  been  stunned  and  not  seriously  hurt.  Then 
Mr.  Forbes  insisted  on  Fred  and  the  girls  retiring  to 
rest,  while  he  and  the  mother  stayed  to  watch  until 
about  midnight,  when  Bertie  sank  into  a  quiet  sleep, 
and  then  father  and  mother  went  to  rest  with  heavy 
hearts.  It  was  evident  to  them  that  their  son  had 
not  only  been  in  bad  company,  but  that  he  had  also 
been  drinking. 

Bertie  awoke  next  morning  with  a  pain  in  his 
head  and  a  ringing  in  his  ears;  and  when  he  tried  to 
rise  the  room  seemed  to  spin  round  with  him,  and  he 
sank  back  on  his  pillow  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands  as  the  remembrance  of  all  that  had  passed 
the  night  before  came  rushing  upon  him.  As  he  lay 
and  thought  of  it  all  he  began  to  wonder  if  the  fam- 
ily would  come  to  ask  after  him ;  and,  though  he 


54  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

longed  to  see  them,  yet  he  almost  wished  they  would 
not  come.  Presently  there  was  a  rap,  and  then  the 
door  opened  softly  and  Nellie  came  in,  with  an  anx- 
ious look  on  her  face.  He  looked  at  her,  his  own 
face  flushing  scarlet,  and  then  turning  away  his  head 
he  put  out  a  hand  as  if  to  motion  her  away,  and 
finally  sobbed  out, 

"O  Nellie,  dear." 

And  Nellie  came  and  laid  her  face  close  upon  his 
pillow  and  sobbed  with  him. 

At  last  he  found  voice  to  ask,  "Nell,  do  you 
know  how  it  happened?" 

"Not  all,"  Nellie  answered,  tearfully,  though  her 
face  showed  that  she  suspected  more  than  she  knew. 
And  then,  with  his  face  turned  toward  the  wall,  that 
he  might  not  see  her  tears,  Bertie  told  her  all.  She 
proved  a  poor  comforter,  so  far  as  words  were  con- 
cerned, but  the  kiss  she  imprinted  on  his  forehead 
was  more  to  Bertie  than  words.  She  sat  by  the  bed 
for  some  moments  in  silence,  and  then  looking  up, 
Bertie  asked  doubtfully, 

"  Do  you  think  mother  will  come?" 

Nellie  nodded  assent. 

' '  Do  you  think  she  will  forgive  me  for  disgracing 
you  all?  Mother  always  seemed  afraid  I  would  do 
something  bad ;  but,  indeed,  Nellie,  I  did  n't  mean  to 
do  wrong  at  first." 

"Mother  loves  you,  any  way,"  said  his  sister, 
ready  to  sob  again.  And  Bertie  said,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  "Now,  sister,  leave  me  alone  a  little  while." 

Nellie  went  softly  out  and  left  her  brother  to  his 
thoughts.  They  were  not  of  the  pleasantest  kind, 


BERTIE'S  TEMPTATION.  55 

but  they  helped  him  to  make  some  very  earnest 
resolves  for  the  future. 

Nellie  brought  his  breakfast,  but  he  only  tasted 
it;  his  head  was  aching  sadly,  and  his  heart  worse. 
About  ten  o'clock,  as  he  lay  wondering  if  his  mother 
was  not  coming  at  all,  he  heard  a  well-known  step, 
and  then  his  door  opened.  He  looked  up,  although 
he  had  intended  not  to  do  so.  The  face  he  saw 
was  very  pale  and  the  eyes  were  red  with  weeping. 
Involuntarily  he  reached  out  both  hands  and  Avhis- 
p»fed  under  Iris  breath,  "Mother!"  and  in  a  moment 
more  he  was  sobbing  on  her  shoulder.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  found  voice  to  tell  her  all  about  it, — how 
the  boys  had  dared  him  to  drink,  and  how  at  first 
he  thought  he  would  just  put  it  to  his  lips;  and  then 
he  drank  a  glass  the  same  as  the  others  ;  how  they 
called  him  proud,  and  "baby,"  because  he  would 
not  stand  a  treat :  and  finally  they  had  provoked  him 
till  they -came  to  blows. 

"O  mother,  can  you  forgive  me?"  he  fairly 
sobbed  out,  as  he  finished;  "I  didn't  intend  to  go, 
but  Allie  found  fault  with  me,  and  Nellie  was  gone, 
and  you  had  the  headache — and  there  was  nothing 
for  me  to  do." 

Mrs.  Forbes  winced  as  Bertie  gave  his  reasons 
for  going,  and  she  remembered  her  impatience  at  his 
noise;  and  her  heart  told  her  she  had  not  tried  as 
she  might  to  make  her  home  attractive  to  her  rest- 
less but  affectionate  boy,  and  she  answered  more 
lovingly  than  was  her  wont,  "Yes,  dear,  mother 
forgives  all,  and  you  and  I  will  try  to  be  more  to 
each  other  than  we  have  been.  And,  O,  my  son, 


56  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS.  . 

mother  did  not  know  that  she  was  sending  you  into 
temptation  when  she  complained  of  your  noisy  ways." 

In  the  evening  Bertie  was  able  to  go  down  to 
supper,  although  he  would  much  rather  have  taken 
it  in  his  own  room  than  to  face  the  rest  of  the  fam- 
ily; but  he  felt  that  he  must  do  it  some  time,  and 
the  sooner  it  was  over  the  better.  Fred  and  Allie 
spoke  kindly  to  him,  but  no  reference  was  made  to 
the  events  or  preceding  night.  His  father  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  head  with  a  caressing  motion,  and  as 
their  eyes  met  Bertie  felt  that  all  was  forgiven,  and 
though  the  tears  would  come  there  was  joy  in  his 
.heart  in  spite  of  his  feeling  of  shame  at  his  wrong- 
doing. 

From  that  time  there  was  a  better  understanding 
between  the  family  and  their  "irrepressible"  boy. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  feeling  on  their  part  that  by 
their  system  of  repression  they  had  driven  him  into 
bad  company ;  while  Bertie  felt  that  so  long  as  they 
were  so  kind  to  him  and  so  thoughtful  for  his  happi- 
ness, no  self-denial  would  be  too  hard  to  endure  as 
an  atonement  for  the  sorrow  he  had  caused  them. 


JVfoTHERS-IN-lfAW. 


'ND  so  you  are  really  going  to  be  married, 

Hildreth?" 

The  young  man  addressed  was  lounging  in 
an  arm-chair  in  the  hotel  bar-room,  reading 
the  morning  journal.  He  looked  up  at  his 
questioner  and  laughed  a  little  lightly. 

"Well,  yes,  provided  all  things  go  on 
smoothly.  You  know  the  old  adage,  'There  's 
many  a  slip,'  etc." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  I  guess  you  are  in  for 
it.  By  the  way,  where  are  you  going  to  reside  ? 
I  understand  that  your  mother-in-law  elect 
is  a  widow,  and  your  prospective  wife  an  only  daugh- 
ter. But  of  course  you  will  not  think  of  taking  the 
old  lady  into  your  family,"  replied  his  companion. 

"We  shall  live  on  the  old  homestead.  Mrs. 
Warren  is  not  willing  to  leave  the  old  home,  and  of 
course  she  could  not  live  there  alone." 

"Whew!  Well,  you  must  be  love -sick  with  a 
vengeance,  if  you  are  willing  to  live  with  the  old  lady. 
The  idea  of  your  doing  such  a  thing.  For  my  part 
I  would  rather  eat  boarding-house  hash  and  sew  on 
my  own  buttons  all  my  life  than  run  the  risk  of  being 
bored  by  having  a  mother  in-law  about  every  day." 
And  the  speaker  looked  thoroughly  disgusted  as  he 
reached  for  a  match  to  light  his  second  cigar. 


58  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  EOLKS. 

"O,  I  don't  apprehend  any  serious  trouble," 
replied  Hildreth,  coldly.  "I  think  I  know  how  to 
manage  my  own  affairs,  and  hardly  think  a  mother- 
in-law  will  be  likely  to  take  the  reins  out  of  my 
hands." 

"You  may  boast  now,"  answered  his  companion 
knowingly,  "but  just  wait  till  she  has  had  you  under 
her  thumb  for  a  year  and  see  if  you  dare  say  your 
soul's  your  own." 

The  young  men  had  been  talking,  apparently 
oblivious  of  the  presence  of  a  third  party,  a  man  of 
some  forty-five  or  fifty  years,  a  stranger  who  was 
stopping  at  the  hotel,  and  who  had  been  writing 
busily  at  the  desk  near  by  during  their  conversation. 
Turning  around  from  his  desk  he  said,  pleasantly, 
"Young  gentlemen,  may  I  say  a  word,  too?" 

The  young  men  laughed,  and  Hildreth  colored 
as  he  saw  they  had  had  a  listener,  but  both  readily 
assented  to  hear  what  the  stranger  had  to  say,  and 
he  continued:  "I  have,  unintentionally,  been  a  lis- 
tener to  your  conversation,  and  I  find  that  you  have 
imbibed  notions  that  may  do  you  an  injury,  and 
others  also.  There  is  too  much  of  a  disposition  to 
find  fault  with  these  who  are  often  our  best  friends. 
A  woman  who  has  raised  a  daughter  who  is  worthy 
to  be  the  wife  of  an  honest,  respectable,  young  man, 
is  not  likely  to  be  a  very  bad  person  herself,  though 
she  may  be  far  from  perfect.  My  own  experience  is 
so  different  from  the  popularly  conceived  notion  of 
mothers-in-law  that  I  can  never  hear  a  word  spoken 
of  them  lightly,  or  in  condemnation,  without  entering 
my  protest  against  it.  When  I  married,  some  twenty 


MOTHERS-IN-LAW.  59 

years  ago,  my  wife's  mother,  being  a  widow,  came 
to  make  her  home  with  us,  and  I  confess  that  I  had 
some  little  fear  that  it  might  mar  our  domestic  peace, 
but  prepared  myself  with  something  of  the  feeling 
of  a  martyr  to  endure  it  all  patiently  for  my  wife's 
sake.  But  I  was  very  agreeably  disappointed.  We 
were  both  young  and  ignorant  of  business  or  house- 
keeping, and  her  oversight  saved  me  many  a  dollar 
that  would  otherwise  have  been  spent  foolishly  or 
wasted.  And  her  loving  watchfulness  often  smoothed 
over  little  misunderstandings  between  us  that  might 
ha-ve  ended  in  heartache  or  alienation.  Once,  when 
envy  and  calumny  were  doing  their  utmost  to  rob 
me  of  my  good  name,  she  stood  by  me  and  up- 
held me  by  her  encouragement  and  confidence,  for 
if  she  ever  doubted  me  for  a  moment  she  never  per- 
mitted me  to  see  that  she  did.  Sometimes  I  have 
thought  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  faith  in  my 
uprightness,  perhaps  even  my  wife  would  have 
doubted  me;  but  she  stood  firmly  by  me,  and  her 
faith  buoyed  us  up  till  the  trouble  was  over,  and 
when  my  good  name  was  established  without  a  stain 
there  was  no  one  who  rejoiced  more  than  she." 

"But  didn't  it  seem  a  little  like  you  were  being 
constantly  watched  and  criticised  to  have  her  always 
in  your  house?"  asked  Hildreth. 

1 '  I  did  feel  a  little  that  way  at  first,  but  the  feel- 
ing left  me  in  less  than  six  months,  and  I  came  to 
look  upon  her  as  a  sort  of  guardian  angel  who  was 
watching  over  us  and  ministering  to  our  welfare. 
No,  young  gentlemen,  I  have  had  reason  many  times 
to  thank  God  for  giving  me  such  a  friend,  and  when 


60  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

she  was  laid  in  her  last  earthly  resting  place  there 
was  no  truer  mourner  than  myself.  There  is  no 
class  of  people  who  are  more  liable  to  be  misunder- 
stood than  step -mothers  or  mothers-in-law,  and 
though  I  have  had  no  experience  with  the  first  I 
have  with  the  second,  and  I  can  say  that  while 
mothers-in-law  may  have  their  faults,  so  have  sons-in- 
la\v,  and  there  is  as  much  need  for  reform  on  their 
part  as  on  their  mothers-in-law.  I  beg  pardon  for  my 
intrusion  upon  your  conversation,  but  the  memory 
of  that  mother  is  like  a  sweet  incense  to  me  to  day, 
and  I  could  not  let  this  opportunity  pass  without 
giving  my  testimony  to  the  goodness  and  disin- 
terested affection  of  at  least  one  mother-in-law.  I 
am  not  much  in  favor  of  'post-mortem  laudation,' 
but  I  had  inscribed  upon  the  marble  that  marks  her 
resting  place,  'Servant  of  God,  well  done,'  and  I  feel 
that  no  higher  encomium  could  be  pronounced  on 
any  one." 


^$TORY  FOR  IflTTLE 


(T  was  a  very  sober  face  that  Lula  Norton 
held  up  for  her  mother's  evening  kiss  as 
she  came  in  from  school,  and  the  moth- 
er's watchful  eye  quickly  detected  the  cloud  on 
her  daughter's    usually  happy  face.      She    said 
nothing   then,    but  waited  until  the  little  girl's 
bed-time. 

When  Lula  was  nicely  tucked  in  between  the 
A    fleecy  blankets,   ready   for  her  good-night  talk 
with  mamma,  Mrs.  Norton  seated  herself  on  the 
side  of  the  little  bed,  and  waited  for  her  daugh- 
ter to  commence  the  conversation.     But  Lula's 
busy  tongue  was,  for  once,  still.      At  last  her  mother 
said  kindly:    "What  is  it,  Lula?" 

"O  mamma,  I  know  it  isn't  right,  but  I  felt  so 
angry  and  disappointed  to  day.  You  know  I  have 
had  such  a  time  blotting  my  copy-book  this  Winter ; 
and  teacher  told  me  if  I  made  any  blots  this  week 
she  would  have  to  keep  me  in  from  recess;  and  I  did 
try  so  hard  to  be  neat ;  ajid  to-day  Jenny  Groves  let 
her  pen  fall  on  my  book,  and  it  rolled  over  and  over 
and  blotted  my  book  so  badly ;  and  Miss  Brown  was 
displeased  and  reproved  me  when  she  saw  it,  and 
then  kept  me  in  from  recess. 

"  But  why  did  n't  you  tell  her  hpw  it  happened?" 
asked  Mrs.  Norton. 


62  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

' '  She  never  asked  me,  mamma ;  and  you  know 
she  does  not  allow  us  to  tell  on  each  other.  I 
wouldn't  have  minded  so  much,  but  Jennie  never 
appeared  as  if  she  knew  any  thing  about  it ;  and 
when  recess  came  she  walked  out  of  the  school-room 
without  even  looking  toward  me.  And  now  Miss 
Brown  is  displeased  with  me,  and  thinks  I  do  n't 
try  to  please  her.  She  always  kisses  me  good-bye, 
mamma ;  but  to-night  she  only  said,  '  Good-bye, 
Lula,'  O  so  coldly;  and  it's  all  Jennie's  fault,  and  I 
never  will  forgive  her  as  long  as  I  live !"  and  Lula 
gave  vent  to  her  pent-up  grief  in  a  good  cry,  with 
her  face  buried  in  her  pillow. 

"My  daughter  must  not  say  that,"  said  her 
mother,  sadly.  "If  we  would  have  forgiveness,  we 
must  also  forgive." 

"But,  mamma,  it  is  so  hard  to  be  blamed  for 
what  you  didn't  do." 

"If  your  teacher  doesn't  know,  God  does,"  said 
Mrs.  Norton,  softly. 

"  I  suppose  so;  but  that  doesn't  seem  to  make  it 
any  easier.  I  did  want  to  be  marked  perfect  this 
week.  I  suppose  God  does  know ;  but  I  would  like 
for  teacher  to  know,  and  the  scholars,  too ;"  and 
Lula  gave  way  to  a  fresh  burst  of  tears. 

"  Lula,"  said  her  mother,  presently,  "I  think  our 
heavenly  Father  will  make  it  all  right  some  day,  and 
your  teacher  will  find  out  in  some  way  that  you  are 
not  in  fault.  I  hope  my  little  girl  will  try  not  to  feel 
angry  at  her  school-mate,  even  though  Jennie  did  not 
do  quite  right  on  her  part.  Shall  we  ask  Jesus  to 
make  it  all  right  with  your  teacher  if  he  thinks 


A  STORY  FOR  LITTLE  GIRLS.  63 

best ;  and,  if  not,  to  give  you  grace  to  bear  it  pa- 
tiently?" 

"If  you  please,  mamma,"  Lula  replied,  in  a  low 
tone ;  and  then  Mrs.  Norton  kneeled  and  prayed  God 
to  help  her  daughter  to  bear-  reproach  without  mur- 
muring— to  try  to  do  right,  even  though  others  might 
not  understand  her. 

As  she  kissed  her  mother  good-night,  Lula  whis- 
pered:  "  I  '11  try  to  think  it  is  all  right,  mamma;  but 
it  is  hard  to  be  blamed  for  what  you  did  n't  do." 

The  next  morning  Lula  took  her  seat  in  school 
with  a  face  still  clouded  with  the  remembrance  of 
yesterday's  disgrace,  and  with  a  feeling  very  near 
akin  to  anger  toward  Jennie  Groves  still  lingering  in 
her  heart.  But  she  applied  herself  diligently  to  her 
studies,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  her  teach- 
er's words  of  approval.  As  the  girls  were  taking 
their  seats  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon  recess,  Jennie 
drew  Lula's  face  down  to  hers,  and  whispered  peni- 
tently, "  Lula,  I  told  teacher  all  about  it,  and  she  is 
so  glad."  Lula  did  not  need  to  ask  her  seat-mate 
what  she  meant  by  "it;"  for  the  affair  of  yesterday 
had  been  in  her  mind  all  day,  and  she  only  gave  one 
glance  toward  her  teacher,  whose  eyes  met  hers  with 
a  look  of  sympathy,  and  then  she  laid  her  head 
do\vn  on  her  desk  and  cried  for  very  joy. 

After  the  scholars  had  finished  their  recitations, 
Miss  Brown  told  them  to  put  away  their  books,  as 
she  had  something  to  say  to  them.  Lula's  heart 
gave  a  great  throb,  and  she  looked  toward  her  seat- 
mate  ;  but  Jennie  turned  away  with  a  very  pale  face 
as  if  she  would  avoid  Lula's  inquiring  eyes. 


64  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"Children,"  said  Miss  Brown,  "I  wish  to  say 
that  I  punished  Lula  Norton  wrongfully  yesterday. 
Jennie  Groves  wishes  me  to  say  that  it  was  she  who 
blotted  Lula's  book,  and  that  she  is  sorry  she  was 
not  brave  enough  to  acknowledge  it  yesterday.  And 
/  wish  to  say  that  /  am  sorry  that  I  did  not  inquire 
more  particularly  before  punishing  Lula  for  a  fault 
of  which  she  was  not  guilty.  By  Jennie's  request 
the  mark  for  carelessness  is  erased  from  Lula's  record 
and  placed  on  hers." 

After  a  few  more  words  to  her  pupils  about  the 
necessity  of  being  perfectly  honest,  Miss  Brown  pro- 
ceeded to  close  the  school.  But  neither  Lula  nor 
Jennie  joined  their  voices  with  that  of  their  school- 
mates in  singing  the  evening  hymn.  Jennie  laid  her 
head  upon  her  desk,  and  sobbed  bitterly.  It  had 
cost  her  a  hard  struggle  to  tell  her  teacher  that  she 
had  blotted  Lula's  book,  and  had  then  permitted  her 
to  be  punished  wrongfully.  Lula  was  so  glad  that 
the  blame  had  been  lifted  from  herself  that  she  could 
no  longer  feel  any  anger  in  her  heart  toward  Jennie, 
and  she  put  her  arm  gently  about  her  neck  and  cried 
with  her. 

After  school  was  dismissed  the.  two  little  girls 
lingered  for  a  few  moments  to  say  good-bye  to  their 
teacher.  Miss  Brown  had  imposed  no  penalty  upon 
Jennie,  for  she  saw  she  had  already  suffered  enough ; 
and  so,"  as  she  bid  her  good-bye,  she  drew  the  little, 
tear-stained  face  to  hers,  and  kissed  it  so  tenderly  that 
Jennie  knew  the  past  was  forgiven.  Lula's  joy  for 
her  own  vindication  was  so  mingled  with  pity  for  her 
school-mate  that  she  hardly  knew  whether  she  ought 


A  STORY  FOR  LITTLE  GIRLS.  65 

to  be  glad  or  not.  As  she  lifted  her  face  to  her 
teacher  for  her  accustomed  kiss,  and  Miss-  Brown  en- 
circled her  with  her  arms  and  said,  "  I  am  very  glad 
my  little  Lula  was  brave  enough  to  bear  her  trouble 
so  patiently,"  Lula  thought,  "If  my  teacher  knew 
how  wickedly  I  felt  last  night,  she  would  not  call  me 
patient  or  brave." 

A  glance  at  Lula's  face  told  Mrs.  Norton  that  the 
cloud  had  been  dispelled  from  her  daughter's  heart, 
and  she  took  her  in  her  arms  lovingly,  and  then  held 
her  from  her  a  moment  as  she  looked  inquiringly  into 
the..bright,  happy  eyes.  Lula  understood  the  look, 
and  answered  : 

"It  is  all  right  now,  mamma,  and  I  am  so  sorry 
I  was  so  wicked  and  ugly  last  night.  Jennie  told  the 
teacher  all  about  it,  and  she  told  the  scholars ;  and  I 
am  glad,  only  I  feel  so  sorry  for  Jennie  ;"  and  again- 
the  little  girl's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

"Jennie  has  gained  a  great  victory  over  herself 
by  confessing  her  fault,"  said  Mrs.  Norton,  kindly, 
"and  she  will,  no  doubt,  next  time  be  braver  than 
to  let  another  suffer  for  her  fault.  I  hope  my  little 
girl  will  only  be  the  better  for  this  trial." 

"O  mamma,  I  know  I  shall  be  more  patient  next 
time,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  could  never  be  so  angry  with 
anyone  again;"  and  Lula  once  more  twined  her  arms 
about  her  mother's  neck. 

Mrs.  Norton  replied  tenderly  as  she  returned  her 
daughter's  caress  : 

"Wa  must  not  trust  too  much  in  our  own 
strength,  Lula,  but  we  must  ask  God's  help.  And 
there  is  a  verse  of  Scripture  that  I  would  like  for 


66  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

you  to  commit  to  memory.  It  is  this  :  '  For  what 
glory  is  it  if,  when  ye  be  buffeted  for  your  faults,  ye 
shall  take  it  patiently?  But  if  when  ye  do  well  and 
suffer  for  it,  ye  take  it  patiently,  this  is  acceptable 
to  God.'  " 


FASHIONABLE  GALLS. 


DEAR,  I  do  wonder  if  it  pays,  after 
all!"  and  Mrs.  Harris  threw  her  gloves 
and  parasol  on  the  sofa  and  sank  into  a  chair, 
at  the  same  time  fanning  herself  vigorously. 
Her  husband,  who  had  just  come  home  to  tea, 
looked  up  in  surprise  at  the  complaining  words 
and  disconsolate  tones  of  his  wife,  and  asked, 
' '  Wonder  if  what  pays  ?  Have  you  been  mak- 
ing investments  in  railroad  bonds  and  become 
frightened  for  fear  the  company  is  shaky?" 

' '  No,  hush,  do  ;  men  are  such  teases !  But 
I  really  feel  as  if  it  was  all  a  waste  of  time." 
"As  you  haven't  told  me  yet  what  you  are  talk- 
ing about,  I  shall  have  to  wait  until,  you  enlighten 
me  a  little  before  giving  my  opinion  ;  though,  come 
to  think  of  it,'  you  haven't  asked  me  for  it  yet," 
said  Mr.  Harris  laughingly. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  must  know,  I. mean  fashion- 
able calls.  I  have  been  walking  and  talking  all  the 
afternoon,  and  am  nearly  roasted  and  quite  tired  out, 
and  I  do  not  believe  that  we  have  said  a  dozen  sen- 
sible things  in  the  whole  afternoon.  If  it  was  not  for 
seeming  selfish  and  unsociable  I  would  rather  stay 
at  home  and  patch." 

"Well,  I  didn't  suppose  that  any  thing  could  put 
rou  out  so.  What  has  happened  any  way?  It  is 


68  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

half  an  hour  before  tea  will  be  ready,  suppose  you 
give  me  a  sketch  of  the  'leading,  events,'  as  the 
reporters  say,"  and  Mr.  Harris  laid  down  his  paper 
and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  mock  dignity  by 
way  of  signifying  his  readiness  to  listen.  His  wife 
loosened  the  ties  of  her  bonnet  and  laid  it  on  her 
knee,  stroking  the  plume  caressingly. 

"The  first  place  at  which  we  called  was  Mrs. 
Jones's.  She  had  just  been  having  trouble  with  her 
cook,  and  we  had  to  listen  while  she  told  us  of  all 
the  trouble  she  has  had  with  hired  help  for  the  last 
ten  years.  One  always  burnt  the  bread,  one  fried  the 
steak  too  hard,  one  had  too  many  beaux,  another 
wasted  the  tea  and  sugar,  another  had  such  a  temper, 
and  still  another  was  too  slow,  and  so  on,  winding 
up  with  a  rousing  benediction  on  the  present  queen 
of  the  kitchen.  Neither  Mrs.  Armstrong  nor  myself 
succeeded  in  putting  in  a  half  dozen  sentences  during 
our  stay,  and  that  was  a  full  half  hour,  and  as  there 
was  only  one  side  to  the  story  we  might  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  whole  line  of  hired  help 
was  a  sad  failure,  and  the  sooner  it  was  wiped  out 
the  better." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  her  what  a  treasure  our 
Mollie  is?" 

"Tell  her!  why  she  didn't  give  me  a  chance. 
We  were  obliged  to  leave  her  at  the  door  with  an 
unfinished  sentence  on  her  lips,  though  we  had  pro- 
longed our  call  fifteen  minutes  beyond  the  time  al- 
lotted. From  there  we  went  to  Mrs.  Newton's.  She 
looked  surprised,  and  I  thought  a  little  sorry,  to  see 
us,  though  I  have  been  owing  her  a  call  for  four 


FASHIONABLE  CALLS.  69 

months.  She  showed  us  into  the  parlor,  raised  one 
of  the  blinds  about  six  inches,  letting  in  barely 
enough  light  for  us  to  see  each  other's  faces.  As 
soon  as  we  were  seated  she  took  occasion  to  say  she 
hoped  we  would  excuse  the  appearance  of  the  house, 
she  knew  it  wasn't  fit  to  invite  any  body  into,  but  she 
expected  to  clean  house  next  week.  I  ventured  to 
say  that  the  house  did  n't  look  as  if  it  needed  clean- 
ing, which  was  true,  from  the  fact  that  the  room  was 
so  dark  that  I  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  clean  or 
dirty.  But  she  insisted  that  it  was  shocking  dirty — 
ashamed  to  have  company — but  she  had  been  waiting 
for  a  new  carpet,  and  Mr.  Newton  was  so  slow,  never 
got  a  new  piece  of  furniture  until  the  old  fell  to 
pieces.  Wished  she  had  a  husband  like  Mr.  Harris; 
he  always  seemed  to  anticipate  his  wife's  wants,  and 
so  on  to  the  end." 

"Her  remarks  were  very  flattering  to  me,  I  am 
sure,  though  not  so  much  so  to  Newton  if  he  had 
heard  it,"  laughed  Mr.  Harris. 

"  I  presume  he  hears  enough  of  it,  for  any  woman 
who  will  scold  about  her  husband  will  scold  at  him." 

"And  what  next?" 

"  O,  it  was  all  in  the  same  strain  as  long  as  we 
stayed.  I  tried  to  apologize  for  Mr.  Newton,  but 
she  wouldn't  listen  to  any  apology,  and  so  we  hur- 
ried away,  and  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief  when  we 
found  ourselves  again  in  the  street;  and  then — are 
you  tired?" 

"Tired!  no,  not  I.  I  have  been  dying,  as  the 
girls  say,  to  know  what  women  talked  about  when 
they  went  '  calling, '  and  I  want  to  hear  all  about  it. 


70  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

But  /  thought  they  talked  about  their  neighbors  more 
than  JJiemselves. " 

"Wait  a  moment;  I  haven't  come  to  that  yet. 
The  next  place  we  called  was  at  Mrs.  Fitzgerald's. 
She  had  been  shopping  this  morning,  and  wanted  me 
to  tell  her  how  to  have  her  little  girl's  dresses  made. 
Wanted  to  know  if  I  couldn't  cut  her  some  patterns. 
'It  did  cost  so  much  to  buy  new  patterns  every 
Spring.'  I  felt  provoked.  Wanted  me  to  turn  dress- 
maker for  her  little  cherubs,  and  pay  me  in,  Thank 
you,  when  Fitzgerald  gets  a  third  larger  salary  than 
you !  I  told  her  I  did  n't  understand  pleasing  other 
people,  and  suggested  that  she  go  to  the  dress-maker 
and  get  some  newer  styles.  No,  indeed,  she  could  n't 
afford  that.  '  Fitzgerald  only  gave  me  so  much  to 
buy  material  and  to  pay  the  seamstress,  but  Mrs. 
Graves  was  showing  me  her  little  girls'  dresses,  so 
nice!  and  I  am  botmd  her  children  shall  not  dress 
better  than  mine  if  Graves  does  have  a  share  in  the 
corner  store;  and  so  I  spent  all  my  money  for  the 
material,  and  now  I  will  have  to  work  my  fingers  off 
to  get  them  made  up.'  And  I  thought,  Well,-  if  you 
are  so  silly  as  to  kill  yourself  trying  to  dress  like  your 
rich  neighbors,  it  isn't  much  difference  if  you  do 
work  your  fingers  off." 

"Which  was  not  a  very  charitable  thought,"  said 
Mr.  Harris,  dryly. 

"Of  course  not.  But  it  did  sound  so  foolish  that 
I  could  not  help  thinking,  though  I  dare  not  speak. 
Mrs.  Hickman  was  brimful  of  gossip  about  Mr. 
Bloomfield's  failure.  She  knew  it  would  be  so;  had 
told  James  over  and  over,  and  wanted  him  to  talk 


FASHIONABLE  CALLS.  71 

with  Bloomfield  about  his  extravagant  ways,  but  he 
said  Bloomfield  knew  his  own  business,  and  he 
should  not  bother  about  what  was  no  concern  of 
his.  And  then  she  told  us  how  she  had  called  there 
one  evening  when  the  family  were  at  tea:  t Miss 
Bloomfield  came  into  the  sitting-room  and  left  the 
door  partly  open.  I  just  looked  in,  careless  like, 
you  know,  and  as  true  as  I  live  the  table  was  all 
rigged  out  in  china,  and  they  had  two  kinds  of  cake 
on  the  table,  and  no  company,  either!  I  told  James 
when  I  came  home  that  I  would  n't  be  surprised  if 
trvey  should  see  the  day  when  they  would  be  glad  to 
get  one  kind  of  cake.  He  said  it  was  none  of  my 
business,  he  guessed.  But  I  told  him  it  was  some 
of  my  business  when  my  neighbors  were  going  to 
destruction  right  before  my  eyes.  Says  he,  ' '  Why 
didn't  you  tell  Miss  Bloomfield  yourself?"  "Tell 
Miss  Bloomfield!"  says  I,  "why  she  would  a' 
ordered  me  out  of  doors  in  a  minute."  "And 
served  you  right,"  says  James,  snappishly.  I  told 
him  I  wished  he  wouldn't  take  Miss  Bloomfield's 
part  and  find  fault  with  me,  and  he  looked  kind  a 
surprised,  and  asked,  "  Who's  finding  fault?" 
But  I  ain't  a  bit  sorry  they  failed.  May  be  they 
won't  think  themselves  better  than  their  neighbors.' 
And  I  really  believe  the  woman  is  glad  they 
failed." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  her  that  Bloomfield  did 
not  fail  through  extravagance?"  • 

"Mrs.  Armstrong  did  as  soon  as  she  stopped 
long  enough  for  us  to  put  in  a  word.  You  would 
have  laughed  to  see  how  blank  she  looked  when 


72  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  told  her  that  Mr.  Bloomfield  failed 
because  the  bank  where  his  money  was  depos- 
ited had  suspended  payment,  and  not  because  of 
his  wife's  extravagance.  But  she  insisted  that  it 
was  good  enough  for  them ;  they  need  n't  be  so 
stuck  up." 

"  Was  that  the  last  call  you  made?" 

"O,  no,  we  made  three  others,  a  little  shorter, 
and  just  about  as  profitable,  and  I  feel  that  the  time 
has  been  wasted.  I  have  been  wanting  to  go  and 
see  old  Mrs.  Moore  for  some  time ;  she  always  rests 
me  so  when  I  spend  an  hour  with  her,  and  she  gives 
me  such  good  advice  about  the  children,  that  my 
work  seems  lighter  for  a  week  after  I  have  been 
there.  I  felt  that  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  go 
there  to-day,  but  I  have  been  owing  these  calls  for 
so  long  that  I  felt  it  a  duty  to  make  them  ;  but  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  wasted  precious  time  in  talking  with 
and  about  people  for  whom  I  cared  but  little,  and 
who  cared  still  less  for  me,  and  I  have  a  great  mind  to 
say  that  I  will  never  make  another  fashionable  call," 
and  Mrs.  Harris  leaned  back  in  her  chair  as  if 
perplexed. 

' '  Well,  if  this  is  a  specimen  of  fashionable  calls, 
I  do  not  wonder  that  you  are  disgusted  with  them," 
said  her  husband,  half-jokingly,  half-seriously. 

"O,  it  is  not  always  so  bad  as  to-day.  Some- 
times I  call  on  entire  strangers  and  find  the  visit  very 
profitable.  You  remember  Mrs.  Adams,  who  united 
with  our  Church  in  the  Winter?  Well,  the  first  time, 
I  called  on  her  I  expected  to  stay  just  ten  minutes, 
and  I  stayed  an  hour.  I  was  positively  ashamed 


FASHIONABLE  CALLS.  73 

when  I  looked  at  my  watch,  but  her  conversation 
was  so  pleasant  and  instructive  that  I  forgot  about 
her  being  a  stranger,  and  she  did  me  ever  so  much 
good ;  but  usually  these  fashionable  calls  are  so 
insipid,  and  the  conversation  either  so  trifling  or  so 
gossipy,  that  I  always  feel  condemned  after  making 
them." 

"Then  I  shouldn't  make  them." 

' '  O  yes,  that  is  all  you  men  know  about  it.  We 
should  have  half  our  neighbors  offended  if  we  only 
returned  the  pleasant  calls." 

/""  Well,  then,  I  suppose  what  can't  be  cured  must 
be  endured;  but  it  seems  to  me  with  a  little  persever- 
ance and  tact  the  sensible  women  might  inaugurate  a 
reform  in  the  rriatter  of  calls,  or  at  least  in  the  con- 
versation at  such  times." 

' '  Yes,  and  suffer  the  fate  of  other  lady  reformers, 
be  laughed  at  by  one-half  the  world  and  make  the 
other  half  afraid  of  you.  But  there  goes  the  tea 
bell.  I  guess  1  must  have  been  gossiping,  too,  for 
tea  is  later  than  usual  and  I  am  not  through  with  my 
complaints  yet." 

7 


DEAR,  I  have  about  come  to  the  con- 
clusion  that  it   is   wicked   to  be  poor!" 
exclaimed    Minnie   Ray,    a   girl   of  some 
sixteen  Summers,  as  she  entered  her  mother's 
sitting-room  and  threw  herself,   with  a  gesture 
of   impatience,   into  the    little    rocker    by  the 
window. 

Her  mother  looked  up  with  a  surprised, 
pained  expression,  and  then  said,  kindly,  "My 
daughter  forgets  that  she  is  rinding  fault  with 
a  wise  Providence  when  she  talks  in  that 
way." 

"Now,  mother,  you  know  I  don't  mean  that; 
but  I  do  get  tired  of  being  poor.  It  has  always  been 
'economize'  and  'save'  ever  since" — she  was  going 
to  say,  "ever  since  papa  died,"  but  she  stopped 
short,  as  she  glanced  at  her  mother  and  saw  the  tears 
stealing  down  her  cheeks,  and  the  next  moment  her 
arms  were  about  her  mother's  neck,  and  Minnie  was 
kissing  away  the  tears. 

"  O  mother,  I  did  n't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings; 
I  know  you  do  all  you  can  for  me,  and  I  do  n't  want 
to  seem  ungrateful ;'  but  it  is  hard  to  want  to  go,  and 
can  not,  because  you  have  nothing  fit  to  wear,"  and 
then,  as  she  saw  by  her  mother's  face  that  she  did 
not  understand  this  sudden  outbreak,  she  added,  "I 


MINNIE'S  SELF-DENIAL.        .  75 

forgot  that  I  had  not  told  you,  but  I  got  this  from 
the  post-office,  only  a  little  while  ago,"  and  she  laid 
a  note  in  her  mother's  hand,  and  then  seated  her- 
self on  a  stool  at  her  feet,  and  watched  her  as  she 
read. 

It  was  a  note  from  one  of  her  young  friends,  with 
an  invitation  for  herself  and  her  brother  Henry  to  at- 
tend a  small  party  at  her  house,  the  following  week. 
The  note  mentioned  one  or  two  of  her  particular 
friends  who  were  expected  to  be  present,  and  closed 
with  the  injunction,  "Don't  fail  to  come." 
^  Mrs.  Ray  sat  holding  the  note  in  her  hand  for 
some  minutes,  without  speaking;  at  last  she  said, 
"Perhaps  we  can  manage  some  way;  could  you  not 
make  over  your  blue  merino,  and  wear  that?" 

"O  no,  mother!  I  wore  that  to  almost  every 
party  I  attended  last  Winter;  and  I  heard  Fannie  Mil- 
ler ask  Jane  Rivers,  the  evening  of  her  party,  if  that 
'old  blue'  was  all  I  had.-  No,  mother,  I  would  rather 
stay  at  home  than  wear  that  shabby  dress."  And, 
gathering  up  the  invitation  and  note,  she  left  the 
room. 

Mrs.  Ray  looked  after  her  daughter,  and  the 
tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  She  was  a  widow,  and 
had  seen  better  days,  but  Mr.  Ray  had  been  unfor- 
tunate in  business,  losing  all  that  he  had  laid  up,  and, 
dying  shortly  after  his  failure,  had  left  his  wife  and 
two  children  penniless,  with  the  exception  of  a  small 
cottage,  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town.  For  two  years 
they  had  contrived,  with  Minnie's  help,  to  take  in 
sewing  enough  to  keep  them  above  actual  want,  and 
to  keep  Henry,  who  was  two  years  older  than  Min- 


76  SJORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

nie,  in  school,  in  order  that  he  might  fit  himself  for 
a  clerkship,  and  thus  support  his  mother  and  sister ; 
but  it  had  only  been  by  doing  as  Minnie  had  said — 
by  economizing  and  saving. 

At  the  tea-table  nothing  was  said  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  the  party,  but  Minnie's  face  bore  the  traces  of 
tears,  and  she  carried  the  subject  to  her  bedroom, 
and  revolved  it  over  and  over  in  her  mind,  as  her 
head  rested  on  the  pillow,  deciding  a  half-dozen  times 
to  wear  last  Winter's  dress,  and  as  often  deciding  to 
stay  at  home  in  preference,  and  finally  ended  by  fall- 
ing asleep  with  the  matter  still  unsettled. 

At  breakfast  Mrs.  Ray  said:  "I  have  about  fif- 
teen dollars  in  the  drawer,  Minnie,  which  I  do  not 
particularly  need  just  now;  if  you  like,  you  can  take 
that  and  buy  you  a  dress  to  wear  to  the  party.  I  am 
anxious  you  should  go,  and  your  brother  does  not 
wish  to  go  without  you,  so  you  had  better  accept  the 
invitation." 

Minnie's  face  brightened  perceptibly  while  her 
mother  was  speaking,  but  she  hesitated  a  moment 
before  answering;  at  last  she  said:  "I  do  want  to 
go  so  much,  mother,  but  I  feel  as  if  it  was  hardly 
right  to  take  your  money;  I  am  afraid  that  you  will 
need  it." 

But  Mrs.  Ray  insisted  that  she  did  not  need  the 
money  just  then ;  and  by  the  next  Winter  Henry 
would  probably  be  in  a  position  to  earn  something. 
So,  thanking  her  mother,  Minnie  took  the  money, 
and  prepared  to  go  out  to  make  the  desired  purchase, 
begging  her  brother  to  go  with  her,  to  help  se- 
lect it 


MINNIE'S  SELF-DENIAL.  77 

Yielding  to  her  persuasions,  Henry  put  on  his 
hat,  and  they  were  soon  in  the  street. 

As  they  walked  along,  Minnie  tried  to  entertain 
her  brother,  by  telling  him  who  were  to  be  present 
at  the  coming  party. 

"But  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  you  don't 
seem  half  so  interested  as  you  did  before  break- 
fast" 

"Minnie,"  said  Henry,  suddenly,  speaking  as  if 
he  had  not  heard  a  word  of  what  his  sister  had  been 
saying,  "do  you  know  what  mother  was  saving  that 
rflohey  for?"" 

"No,"  and  Minnie's  blue  eyes  opened  wide  at 
the  suddenness  of  the  question,  "  what  was  it?" 

"She  told  me  last  week  that  she  had  almost 
money  enough  saved  to  buy  herself  a  new  cloak  for 
this  Winter,  and  that  her  old  one  was  getting  so  thin 
that  she  was  not  comfortable  in  it,  now  that  the  days 
were  growing  colder." 

Minnie's  eyes  sought  the  ground,  and  her  step 
seemed  to  have  suddenly  lost  its  elasticity.  At  last 
she  said,  in  a  very  low  tone,  "  Did  mother  really  say 
that?" 

"Of  course,  she  did!  And  you  didn't  know  it? 
I  thought  as  much  when  you  took  the  money  this 
morning." 

Minnie's  rosy  lips  quivered,  and  her  eyes  looked 
very  misty  as  her  brother  stopped  talking ;  but  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  sudden  resolution  in  her  voice. 
"  I  am  not  going  down  town  this  morning." 

Henry  Idoked  at  her  in  surprise.  "Why?  what 
new  notion  have  you  taken  now?" 


78  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"O  nothing,  only  I  don't  believe  I  will  get  the 
dress  to-day;  come." 

And  almost  before  her  brother  was  aware  of  it, 
their  faces  were  turned  homeward. 

At  the  gate  he  left  her,  and  went  to  his  school. 
Minnie  walked  slowly  up  the  path,  and  entered  the 
house.  Mrs.  Ray  was  busy,  at  the  center-table,  ar- 
ranging the  books  and  papers  that  had  been  mis- 
placed the  previous  evening,  and  humming  a  tune  in 
a  low,  contented  tone. 

Minnie  stood  looking  at  her  mother's  sweet,  pa- 
tient face,  for  a  moment,  and  then,  quickly  gliding 
to  her  side,  putting  her  arm  around  her  waist,  and 
speaking  in  a  trembling  voice,  she  said:  "Mother, 
how  could  you  give  me  all  your  money,  when  you 
were  needing  it  yourself?" 

"Why,  Minnie,  what  brought  you  back  so  soon? 
And  who  told  you  I  needed  the  money?  did  I  not 
say  I  could  do  without  it?" 

"I  came  back  because  I  am  not  going  to  buy  a 
dress,  when  you  need  the  money  for  something  else. 
Henry  said  you  were  intending  to  buy  a  cloak  for 
yourself,  as  soon  as  you  could  save  enough.  No," 
as  her  mother  drew  back  her  hand  as  Minnie  tried  to 
put  the  money  in  it,  "you  must  take  it  back;  in- 
deed, I  could  not  wear  the  dress  if  I  should  get  it, 
knowing  that  you  were  needing  a  cloak  to  keep  you 
warm ;  no,  mother  dear,  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  that, 
if  I  am  a  little  vain  sometimes." 

Thus  entreated,  Mrs.  Ray  took  the  money  from 
her  daughter's  hand,  and  then,  folding  her  lovingly 
in  her  arms,  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  the  upturned  face. 


MINNIE'S  SELF-DENIAL.  -  79 

Minnie  slipped  quietly  from  her  mother's  arms, 
and  went  to  her  own  room,  feeling  far  happier  than 
when  she  started  out  to  buy  the  coveted  dress. 

She  took  down  the  blue  merino,  and  looked  it 
over.  It  did  not  look  half  so  "shabby"  as  it  did 
the  evening  before. 

"  I  do  believe  that  I  can  fix  it  so  that  it  will  do 
to  wear,"  Minnie  said  aloud;  and  then,  in  a  lower 
tone,  "How  selfish  mother  and  Henry  must  have 
thought  me;  but,"  as  if  in  apology  for  herself, 
"mother  never  complains,  and  how  could  I  know 
j,kat  her  cloak  was  not  warm  enough?" 

Minnie  remodeled  the  merino,  and  the  bright, 
glad  look  with  which  her  brother  greeted  her  as  she 
entered  the  little  sitting-room  with  it  on,  ready  to 
accompany  him  to  her  friend's  house,  on  the  evening 
of  the  party,  was  reward  enough  for  all  her  self-de- 
nial. And  when,  outside  the  gate,  her  brother  drew 
her  arm  within  his  own,  and  said,  in  a  low,  loving  tone, 
"My  little  sister  is  dearer  to  me  in  what  she  calls  her 
shabby  merino  than  if  she  had  purchased  a  new  dress 
at  the  cost  of  mother's  comfort  and  health,"  her  cup 
of  happiness  was  full. 

The  evening  passed  off  pleasantly,  even  though 
some  of  the  company  were  better  dressed  than  she ; 
and  as  she  hung  the  dress  in  its  accustomed  place 
that  night,  she  made  up  her  mind  that,  after  all,  real 
happiness  did  not  consist  in  dressing  better  than  her 
companions,  but  in  doing  right,  and  thinking  of  oth- 
ers' comfort  more  than  her  own  gratification. 


]V[RS.  CLAYTON'S  S^XPERIMEHT. 


HAT  have  you  been  doing  to-day  that  you 
are   so  tired?"  asked  Frank  Clayton  one 
evening,  as  he  glanced  at  his  wife's  flushed 
face  and  heard  the  little,  tired  sigh.      "  It  seems 
|J[  to  me  that,  with  only  our  two  selves  in  family, 
you  do  not  need  to  work  so  hard  or  seem  so 
tired  as  you  do  every  evening  lately." 

"  O,  the  house-work  is  not  much,  but  the 
sewing  thrown  in  with  it  makes  it  rather  heavy 
sometimes ;  and  just  now  my  Spring  dresses  are 
to  make,  and  last  year's  ones  to  make  over, 
making  extra  work  at  present.  But  I  will  soon 
be  through,  and  then  I  shall  have  a  little  rest." 

"But,  Mary,  why  not  put  'your  dresses  out,  and 
have  them  made  up,  and  so  get  rid  of  the  worry? 
I  would  rather  pay  for  having  them  made  than  to  see 
you  looking  so  worn  and  tired  every  night." 

' '  O  dear,  that  is  all  you  know  about  it !  With 
your  salary,  if  I  should  hire  my  dresses  made,  there 
would  be  nothing  left  to  buy  the  next  ones ;  for  it 
costs  almost  as  much  to  get  axlress  made  in  the  pres- 
ent style  as  it  does  to  buy  the  material ;  and  when  I 
hire  them  made  up,  it  takes  almost  as  much  time 
running  back  and  forth  every  day  as  it  would  if  I  did 
the  work  myself." 

"  Well,  then,  why  not  make  them  plainer,  and  so 


MRS.  CLAYTON'S  EXPERIMENT.  81 

save  time  ?     How  long   have  you  been  at  work  on 
your  Spring  and  Summer  dresses?" 

" Two  weeks." 

"And  how  long  before  you  will  be  through?" 

"About  three  weeksJ' 

' '  Two  and  three  are  five.  Five  weeks  of  hard 
work  over  patterns  and  sewing-machines — and  all  in 
order  that  you  may  be  fashionably  dressed !  Fie,  fie, 
wife!  I  thoughfyou  had  a  stronger  head  than  that." 
And  Frank  Clayton  leaned  back  in  his  easy  chair, 
and  laughed  heartily  at  the  foolishness  of  women. 
*~"' But,  Frank,"  pleaded  his  wife  when  his  mirth 
had  subsided  a  little,  "you  like  to  see  me  .well 
dressed,  I  am  sure  ;  and  I  dress  more  to  please  you 
than  any  one  else." 

"  But  why  can't  you  be  well  dressed,  as  you  call 
it,  without  so  many  furbelows  and  frizzes  ?  Why, 
you  must  have  spent  an  hour  in  getting  your  hair 
into  that  wonderful  state  of  confusion.  Very  becom- 
ing, I  admit ;  but  where  is  the  use  of  it  ?  I  shall 
like  you  just  as  well  in  a  plain  dress  and  smoothly 
combed  hair  as  I  do  in  flounces  and  frizzes.  And, 
then,  there  is  the  extra  amount  of  cooking  you 
women  do.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  a  sort  of 
strife  to  see  who  can  do  the  most  unnecessary  work. 
If  you  women  would  dress  plainer,  and  could  be 
content  to  put  plain  food  on  your  tables,  we  hus- 
bands would  hear  less  about  tired  and  overworked 
wives?" 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  wise  little  speech, 
Mr.  Clayton  drew  up  a  hassock,  and  placed  his  slip- 
pered feet  upon  it,  and  was  soon  deep  in  the  "latest 


82  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

from  Washington."  Mrs.  Clayton  gave  a  little  sigh, 
as  if  his  argument  was  unanswerable,  and  then  took 
up  her  basting,  so  that  she  might  have  a  little  work 
"ready  for  the  machine"  on  the  morrow.' 

Frank  Clayton  had  been  married  two  years,  and 
was  living  very  comfortably  on  a  salary  of  twelve 
hundred  a  year.  Mrs.  Clayton,  with  a  desire  to  help 
her  husband,  kept  no  "girl,"  but  did  all  her  work, 
except  the  washing  and  ironing.  It  was  hard  work, 
for  she  had  not  been  accustomed  to  the  care  of  a 
house ;  but  when  she  compared  her  little  home  with 
that  of  her  neighbors  and  friends,  she  had  the  satis- 
factipn  of  knowing  that,  although  her  furniture  was 
not  so  costly  or  her  house  so  large,  it  was  just  as 
neat  and  tasty. 

The  next  morning  after  Frank's  little  lecture,  just 
as  he  had  said  good-bye  and  started  for  the  office,  he 
stopped,  with  his  hand  on  the  gate,  and  called  out 
pleasantly :  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  I  saw  Will  Hartley 
yesterday,  and  invited  him  to  dine  with  us  to-day. 
Of  course  you  will  be  glad  to  see  him."  And,  with 
a  light  laugh,  he  closed  tne  gate,  and  went  down 
street. 

Now,  Will  Hartley  was  an  old  friend  of  Mary's ; 
in  fact,  Frank  had  felt  very  much  inclined  to  be  jeal- 
ous of  him  during  courting  days.  Mary  turned  from 
the  door  with  an  impatient  gesture.  "I  declare  it  is 
too  bad,  when  I  am  so  busy  !  I  wonder  if  Frank 
ever  thinks  it  is  any  work  for  me  to  have  company  to 
dinner  two  or  three  days  out  of  a  week?"  Then, 
with  a  mischievous  smile:  "  I  know  what  I  will  do. 
I  will  dress  plainly  and  cook  a  plain  dinner.  That 


MRS.  CLAYTON'S  EXPERIMENT.  83 

was  his  own  advice.  I  will  try  it  once,  and  see  how 
he  will  like  it." 

As  her  dinner  progressed,  Mary  felt  strongly 
tempted  to  make  a  pudding,  or  some  extra  dish  that 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  make  for  her  husband's 
dinner.  Mr.  Hartley  had  praised  the  puddings  and 
pies  at  her  mother's  table ;  and  now,  if  those  things 
were  missing  from  hers,  he  would  think  she  did  not 
know  how  to  make  them.  However,  she  put  the 
temptation  aside,  and  provided  a  plain  dinner,  with- 
out pudding  or  pies.  When  all  was  ready,  she  went 
to-Jier  room. to  "dress  for  dinner."  Selecting  one 
of  her  school  dresses,  that  had  been  laid  by  because 
it  was  out  of  style,  she  dressed  herself  in  it,  and 
smiled  as  she  saw  how  old-fashioned  she  looked  with- 
out flounce  or  overskirt.  Then,  instead  of  the  usual 
dainty  ruche  and  bright  ribbon,  she  pinned  on  a  plain 
linen  collar.  Her  hair  she  twisted,  not  in  a  mag- 
nificent coil  about  her  classic  head — for  there  was  not 
enough  of  it  for  that — but  in  a  little  knot  at  the  back 
of  her  head,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  at  the  back 
of  her  neck,  and  then  took  a  glance  into  her  mirror 
to  see  the  effect.  It  must  be  confessed  it  was  rather 
a  sickly  smile  that  greeted  the  plain  little  figure  in  the 
glass ;  but  she  determined  to  carry  out  her  pro- 
gramme, "  even  if  Mr.  Hartley  does  think  me  a  guy." 

Just  then  she  heard  a  voice  in  the  hall,  and  in  a 
moment  she  was  shaking  hands  with  Will  Hartley, 
and  watching  her  husband  to  see  if  he  noticed  the 
change  in  her  dress.  He  did  notice  it,  and  gave  a 
little  start,  and  his  cheeks  flushed  for  an  instant ;  for 
he  had  pictured  to  himself  how  he  would  quietly 


84  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

triumph  over  his  bachelor  friend,  as  Mary,  daintily 
attired,  should  do  the  honors  of  mistress  of  his  little 
establishment.  As  for  Hartley,  he  looked  a  little  sur- 
prised at  first,  and  the  glance  he  bestowed  on  Mrs. 
Clayton  said  plainer  than  he  was  aware,  ' '  What  a 
change  !" 

After  a  few  moments'  chat  Mary  led  the  way  to 
the  dining-room.  The  meal  passed  off  pleasantly, 
only  after  Frank  had  made  a  very  good  dinner  he 
shoved  back  his  plate  and  sat  as  if  waiting  for  some- 
thing more.  But  Mary  was,  apparently,  too  much 
engaged  in  relating  some  incident  of  school  days  to 
notice  the  silent  hint.  At  last  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"Ready  for  the  pudding,  Mary."  But  Mary  only 
replied  indifferently,  as  if  it  were  not  a  matter  of  any 
consequence, 

"There  is  no  pudding  to-day,"  and  continued  her 
story,  utterly  regardless  of  her  husband's  blank  look. 

As  they  left  the  table  and  repaired  to  the  sitting- 
room  Frank  thought,  "Now  she  will  change  her 
dress  and  show  Hartley  that  she  is  just  as  pretty  as 
she  was  three  years  ago. "  But  he  was  disappointed 
in  this,  for  Mrs.  Clayton  soon  appeared  in  the  same 
dress  she  had  worn  at  dinner.  Hartley  asked  for 
music,  and  she  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  sang 
and  played  as  merrily  as  if  she  were  dressed  in  the 
extreme  of  fashion.  Mr.  Hartley  soon  took  leave  of 
his  hostess,  and  Clayton  accompanied  him  down 
town,  promising  to  be  home  early. 

On  his  return  he  found  her  reading  a  new  book, 
and  dressed  in  the  identical  garb  she  had  worn  at 
dinner. 


MRS.  CLAYTON'S  EXPERIMENT.  85 

"Are  you  sick  to-day?"  asked  Frank  in  an  anx- 
ious tone,  as  he  seated  himself  by  her  side. 

Mary  answered  pleasantly,  ' '  No,  I  never  felt  bet- 
ter in  my  life." 

"Then  what  in  the  name  of  goodness  is  the  mat- 
ter?" asked  Frank  in  an  injured  tone;  "I  expected 
you  would  take  extra  pains  to  look  well  when  you 
knew  Hartley  was  coming,  but  instead  of  that  I 
never  saw  you  look  so  dowdyish." 

"O  no,  not  dowdyish;  I  am  sure  I  was  aeat 
and  clean." 

,— *'O  yes,  neat  and  clean  enough,  I  suppose,  but 
your  hair  looks  just  like  Biddy  Malone's,  only  not 
quite  so  frowsy." 

"Mary  drew  half  a  sigh,  and  said  innocently,  "I 
am  sure  I  thought  you  would  be  pleased." 

"Pleased!"  echoed  Clayton.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Why,  only  last  night  you  lectured  me  on  the 
vanity  of  dress,  and  said  you  would  like  me  just  as 
well  dressed  plainly  as  in  flounces  and  frizzes. 

"O!"  fairly  gasped  Frank,  as  the  truth  began  to 
dawn  upon  him.  "And  so  you  thought  you  would 
try  plain  dressing  and  cooking,  did  you?".  Then 
seeing  he, was  cornered,  he  added  humbly,  "Well,  I 
do  think  you  women  might  do  with  less  of  such 
work,  but  you  went  to  extremes,  which  was  hardly 
fair,  especially  when  an  old  friend  was  coming,  and 
you  must  have  known  that  I  wanted  you  to  do 
your  best." 

"How  unreasonable  you  are!  I  never  tried 
harder  to  be  agreeable  in  my  life." 


86  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"I  know  it,  but  I  couldn't  enjoy  any  thing  for 
looking  at  your  dress.  And  then  that  song,  I  sup- 
pose under  other  circumstances  I  should  have  enjoyed 
it;  as  it  was  I  didn't  understand  three  consecutive 
words  for  looking  at  that  knot  on  the  back  of  your 
neck,"  and  looking  up  he  caught  the  merry  twinkle 
of  his  wife's  eye,  and  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 

"So  you  don't  want  me  to  dress  in  this  style, 
nor  omit  the  pudding  and  pies  at  dinner  any  more?" 
asked  Mary  demurely. 

"  O,  you  can  leave  off  the  pies  and  pudding 
when  we  are  alone,  if  you  like,  but  I  should  not  be 
willing  to  have  you  adopt  your  present  style  of  dress 
even  if  no  one  saw  you  but  myself,"  responded 
Clayton  meekly. 

"Then  I  suppose  I  may  return  to  my  flounces 
and  frizzes;  and  for  my  part. I  shall  not  be  sorry,  but 
I  am  afraid  if  all  husbands  are  like  you  a  woman's 
crusade  against  dress  would  not  prove  as  successful 
as  their  crusade  against  whisky  has  proved."  And 
so  ended  Mrs.  Clayton's  experiment  in  dress  and 
cooking  reform.  ' 


COMPANY'S  x^AKE. 


RED  MELTON  had  been  in  the  village 

of  S a  little  over  a  year,  when  his 

old  friend  and  college  chum,  Clark  Lis- 
ton,  passed  through  the  place  and  called  to  see 
him.     Listen's   parents   were    well    to   do   and 
had  given  their  son  the  benefit  of  their  means 
in  educating  and  training  him  for  business,  and 
while  they  were  doing  this  they  had   not   neg- 
lected  the   more   important  part,   the  religious 
Jf      culture.     Fred   Melton   had  been  trained  with 
^      equal   care,    morally  and   intellectually,    but  at 
y       the  close  of  his  school  days  his  father  died,  leav- 
ing but   little  of  this  world's   goods,  and    Fred   sud- 
denly found  himself  thrown  upon  his  own  resources, 
with  a  mother  and  sister  looking  to  him  for  support. 
He  accordingly  sought  and   obtained  a  situation   in 

S as   clerk   for  a  dry-goods   merchant,  and  there 

young  Liston  found  him.  Melton's  joy  was  un- 
bounded at  the  sight  of  his  old  friend,  and  as  it  was 
near  the  hour  of  closing  up,  he  insisted  on  taking 
his  friend  with  him  to  his  own  room,  that  he  might 
enjoy  his  company  undisturbed.  Once  inside  his 
own  room,  he  turned  to  his  friend,  as  he  gave  him  a 
chair,  with,  "Liston,  old  chum,  it's  good  of  you  to 
remember  a  fellow  this  way.  I  have  been  thinking 
of  you  to-day,  and  wishing  we  could  have  an  old- 


88          STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

time  chat,  but  I  did  n't  know  where  you  were,  and 
then  since  father's  death  every  thing  is  so  different 
with  us,  that  I  didn't  know  but  you  had  forgotten 
me,"  with  a  sigh. 

"Our  school-days  were  too  pleasant  to  allow  me 
to  forget  so  soon,  Fred,"  replied  Listen,  warmly; 
"but  between  business  and  'society,'  I  have  been 
too  busy  to  visit  you  until  now,  and  now  we  are  to- 
gether let 's  not  waste  time  in  regrets.  Suppose  we 
compare  notes.  How  has  time  served  you?" 

"O,  well  enough,"  and  Fred  Melton  turned  his 
eyes  on  the  blaze  of  the  little  grate  as  he  leaned  back 
in  the  chair  he  had  drawn  near  his  friend.  Some- 
thing in  the  voice  more  than  the  words  caused  Listen 
to  look  up  into  his  friend's  face  inquiringly,  but  see- 
ing he  was  not  inclined  to  pursue  the  subject  he 
changed  the  conversation  from  themselves  to  sketch- 
ing some  of  their  old  associates,  and  so  the  evening 
passed  away  very  pleasantly,  although  they  were 
twice  interrupted  by  raps  at  the  door,  which  Melton 
answered  by  stepping  into  the  hall  and  closing  the 
door  after  him,  conversing  with  the  caller  in  low 
tones.  Clark  Liston  said  nothing,  but  the  evening's 
intercourse  showed  him  too  plainly  that  his  friend 
was  not  the  Fred  Melton  of  a  year  and  a  half  ago. 
The  next  morning  being  Sabbath,  Liston  inquired 
where  his  friend  attended  Church. 

"At   the    Methodist,   when  I  go    at   all.      Don't 

attend  very  regularly;  but  of  course  you  want  to  go." 

And  so  they  went.     The  bright,  clear  morning, 

the  cool,  bracing  air,  and  the  ringing  of  church  bells, 

all  tended  to  fill  the  minds  of  the  two  friends  with 


FOR  COMPANY'S  SAKE.  89 

thoughts  of  Him  who  had  made  the  Sabbath  for  his 
children.  The  sermon  was  plain  and  practical,  with- 
out effort  at  rhetoric  or  oratory.  The  services  over, 
Melton  turned  to  go,  but  Listen  said, 

' '  Wait  a  moment,  I  want  to  speak  to  the  min- 
ister." 

"Do  you  know  him?"  asked  Melton,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise. 

"No,  but  I  mean  to;  I  have  enjoyed  his  sermon 
and  I  wish  to  tell  him  so." 

"Well,  you  will  have  to  introduce  yourself,  for  I 
an*,  not  acquainted  with  him."  And  then,  as  he 
noticed  his  friend's  surprised  look,  he  laughed  a  little 
uneasily,  and  turned  to  watch  the  congregation  as 
they  passed  out.  After  a  few  pleasant  words  with 
the  pastor  the  two  young  men  wended  their  way, 
almost  silently,  to  the  boarding-house.  After  dinner, 
when  they  were  once  more  in  Melton's  room,  Clark 
Listen  turned  to  his  friend  and  asked, 

"  Fred,  how  is  this?  What  has  changed  you  so?" 

Melton  laughed  lightly.      "Changed!  How?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean?  You  are  not  what 
you  were  eighteen  months  ago.".  For  some  mo- 
ments the  two  sat  in  silence.  Then  Melton  said, 

"  Well,  chum,  you  are  just  like  you  always  were, 
reading  a  fellow  whether  he  wants  you  to  or  not. 
It  is  true  that  I  am  not  just  what  I  was  when  you 
and  I  left  school." 

"But  how  did  it  happen?  Why  are  you  dif- 
ferent?" 

"  Well,  Clark,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  first  as  last; 
may  be  I  shall  feel  better  if  I  do ;  and  your  coming 


po  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

has  brought  back  old  times  so  fresh  that  I  have  been 
hearing  home  voices  all  day.  But,  I  suppose,  with 
your  strict  notions  of  Christian  courage  and  manli- 
ness, you  will  despise  me  when  you  hear  what  I 
have  to  tell,  and  I  have  gone  further  back  than  you 
think.  To-day  is  the  first  time  in  six  months  that  I 
have  been  to  Church,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you 
I  should  n't  have  gone  to-day.  I  had  arranged  for 
a  good  time  in  a  different  way,  but  your  coming  put 
a  stop  to  it.  I  am  not  sorry  though,  and  Clark,  I 
may  as  well  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  I  have  not 
been  as  strictly  temperate  as  you  and  I  were  taught 
to  be  in  the  good  old  times.-" 

Clark  looked  up  at  his  friend,  his  face  full  of 
reproach,  "  O,  Fred,  how  could  you?" 

"Now  please,  chum,  don't  scold,  or  I  shall  never 
get  through.  I  did  n't  intend  it,  and  the  fact  is,  you 
do  n't  know  any  thing  about  it.  You  never  had  to 
go  among  strangers,  without  money  or  position,  and 
with  nothing  but  your  face  to  recommend  you." 

"Where  was  your  Church  letter?"  asked  Listen, 
without  looking  up. 

"I  carried  it  to  Church  for  a  few  Sabbaths,  but 
there  was  no  opportunity  offered  to  hand  it  in,  and 
so  I  laid  it  away." 

"But  didn't  you  find  friends?" 

' '  Not  such  as  could  be  called  real  friends,  nor 
such  as  you  would  care  to  associate  with.  I  went  to 
Church  and  Sabbath-school  for  nearly  three  months, 
and  was  as  much  a  stranger  at  the  close  as  on  the 
first  Sabbath.  Not  a  soul  seemed  interested  in  me, 
or  seemed  to  care  whether  I  was  a  Christian  or  a 


FOR  COMPANY'S  SAKE.  91 

reprobate,  and  finally  I  left  off  going  altogether,  and 
took  Sunday  walks  instead ;  and  I  found  plenty  of 
company,  too." 

"But,  Fred  Melton,  you  knew  better  than  that," 
and  Listen  spoke  impatiently. 

"Of  course  I  did.  But,  Liston,  I  tell  you,  you 
can  't  understand  until  you  are  in  my  place.  You 
have  never  known  what  it  is  to  be  hungry  for  friends. 
Your  money  and  your  family  have  carried, you  right 
along.  I  was  a  stranger,  and  the  church  going  peo- 
ple only  stared  at  me,  and  I  doubt  whether  they 
£ven  asked  -their  neighbors  who  I  was.  I  have  to 
stay  in  the  store  until  respectable  people  have  closed 
their  doors.  After  nine  and  ten  at  night  one  does  n't 
find  very  choice  company  on  the  streets  or  in  the 
hotel  bar-rooms.  I  did  n't  enjoy  it  at  first,  and  I 
do  n't  yet,  but  what  can  I  do?  I  must  have  company 
of  some  kind.  One  can  't  always  mope.  I  hear 
that  my  employer  has  a  pleasant  family,  but  he  has 
never  invited  me  to  his  house.  I  do  n't  blame  him 
now,  for  I  am  scarcely  a  suitable  companion  for 
either  his  sons  or  daughters.  I  have  not  been  in- 
vited to  a  single  home  since  I  have  been  here,  but  I 
have  been  invited  to  brilliant  halls  and  other  places  for 
gambling;  and  I  have  gone  there,  too,  though  I  have 
never  taken  part  except  for  amusement.  I  suppose 
if  Mr.  Wilson  knew  that  I  frequented  such  places, 
he  would  turn  me*  off.  If  he  should  I  am  ruined, 
and  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  didn't  care  how  soon," 
he  added  desperately. 

Clark  Liston  had  risen  from  his  chair,  while 
his  friend  was  talking,  and,  laying  his  hand  upon 


92  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

his  shoulder,  and  with  a  voice  in  which  pity  and  re- 
proach were  mingled,  said:  "Fred,  I  can  not  tell 
you  how  sorry  I  am  to  hear  this  of  you." 

"And  /  intended  to  keep  it  from  you,  but  I 
could  n't.  We  always  told  each  other  every  thing, 
you  know;  and  I  was  so  hungry  for  a  friend.  The 
company  I  keep  are  not  friends,  Clark.  I  have  not 
seen  a  person  to  whom  I  would  tell  my  heart-thoughts 
since  I  left  home.  I  have  sometimes  wished  I  could 
drink  like  some  of  the  rest,  and  forget  all"  about  it; 
but  I  haven't  got  that  far  yet." 

"No;  and,  by  the  grace  of  God,  you  never 
shall,"  and  Clark  Liston's  voice  had  a  ring  in  it  that 
made  Melton  look  up  in  surprise.  "Fred  Melton, 
you  are  too  good  a  man  to  sink  for  want  of  friends. 
Do  you  remember  the  pledge  we  took  when  we  en- 
tered college?  We  promised  always  to  stand  by 
each  other,  no  difference  what  happened." 

"But  what  can  you  do?"  and  Melton's  voice 
sounded  hopeless  enough.  "  I  can  not  afford  to  give 
up  my  situation,  for  my  mother  and  sister  need  my 
wages ;  you  can  't  stay  here,  to  watch/  over  me.  and 
I  am  too  weak  and  miserable  to  overcome  alone." 

"And  you  need  not  be  alone.  You  know  where 
you  used  to  go  for  strength  ;  go  to  Him  again.  Go 
as  you  used  to,  Fred,  and  ask  him  to  help  you  to  stand, 
even  though  you  should  be  denied  an  earthly  friend. 
Come,  let  us  ask  him  now."  .- 

For  a  moment,  Melton  hesitated,  but  at  last 
bmved  with  his  friend,  with  a  heart  broken  and  con- 
trite. Then  Listen  prayed.  In  a  voice  almost  as 
tender  as  a  mother's,  he  talked  with  God,  pleading 


FOR  COMPANY'S  SAKE.  93- 

that  his  friend  might  have  strength  to  overcome. 
When  they  rose  from  their  knees,  Melton  was 
sobbing  like  a  child.  After  he  had  grojvn  calmer, 
Liston  proposed  visiting  the  pastor  to  whom  they 
had  listened  in  the  morning.  Fred  objected,  but  his 
friend  insisted. 

' '  I  can  not  leave  you  as  lonely  as  I  found  you, 
Fred  ;  I  want  you  to  have  at  least  one  earthly  friend 
to  whom  you  can  go,  and  Mr.  H.  is  a  true  Christian, 
or  I  am  no  judge  of  faces." 

They  found  the  minister  in  his  study,  and  were 
A^armly  welcomed.  Liston  briefly  stated  his  friend's 
case,  and  found  in  the  pastor  a  ready  listener  and 
sympathizer. 

And  when  the  two  young  men  returned  to  their 
lodgings,  they  talked  long  and  earnestly  of  the  past 
and  future,  and  covenanted  anew  to  pray  for  each 
other,  that  they  might  be  strengthened  to  withstand 
temptation,  in  any  form  or  from  whatever  source. 

Before  retiring,  Melton  said :  ' '  Clark,  I  feel  that 
something  is  due  Mr.  Wilson ;  he  has  trusted  me,  and 
I  have  deceived  him  into  thinking  I  keep  regular 
hours ;  will  you  go  with  me,  in  the  morning,  while  I 
tell  him  about  it?" 

' '  No,  Fred  ;  go  alone.  It  will  be  better  for  you 
to  go  to  him  and  make  a  full  confession." 

' '  Perhaps  I  shall  lose  my  situation ;  he  is  very 
strict." 

"I  do  not  think  you  need  fear;  but,  even  then, 
you  had  better  do  it.  Start  fair  and  square,  and  you 
will  stand  a  better  chance  for  the  future.  Father 
says,  'Nothing  is  so  heavy  to  carry  as  a  secret.'" 


94  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"Well,  chum,  I'll  try.  And  I  want  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  ;  and  I  shall  feel  grateful  to 
my  heavenly  Father  for  sending  you  to  visit  me. 
Yesterday  I  was  desperate  enough  to  do  almost  any 
thing ;  to-night  I  am  happier  than  I  have  been  for 
months.  I  shall  burn  my  Church-letter,  for  I  am 
not  worthy  of- it;  but  I  shall  unite  with  the  Church, 
as  I  did  at  first.  By  and  by,  when  I  am  stronger,  I 
will  write  mother  all  about  it. " 

In  the  morning  the  friends  separated  —  Listen  to 
continue  his  journey,  while  Melton  took  his  place,  as 
usual,  in  the  store.  When  Mr.  Wilson  came  to  the 
store,  about  nine  o'clock,  Melton  asked  for  a  private 
interview,  which  was  readily  granted ;  and  then,  with 
burning  cheeks,  but  with  a  firm  will,  he  told  his  em- 
ployer of  his  course  in  the  past  few  months,  keeping 
back  nothing. 

As  he  recounted  his  lonely  hours,  and  his  efforts 
to  confine  himself  to  books,  in  the  absence  of  other 
company,  his  employer  listened  with  surprise.  It 
had  never  entered  his  mind  that  the  young  man  who 
had  been  so  faithful  to  his  business,  could  be  passing 
through  such  temptation,  and  sinking  beneath  it. 
He  had  recommended  him  to  a  respectable  boarding- 
house,  paid  his  wages  regularly,  and  considered  his 
duty  toward  his  clerk  at  an  end ;  and  yet  Mr.  Wilson 
was  rather  above  the  average  Christian  in  most  things. 
But  his  clerk's  confession  made  a  deep  impression, 
and  he  more  readily  forgave  his  wrong-doing,  feeling 
that  himself,  with  others  of  his  Church,  were  in  a 
great  measure  to  blame  for  it. 

The  next  Sabbath,   Fred    Melton  again  gave  his 


FOR  COMPANY'S  SAKE. 


95 


name  to  the  Church,  and  reconsecrated  himself  to 
God,  and,  through  the  kindness  of  his  pastor  and  em- 
ployer, he  had  no  reason  to  go  in  forbidden  paths  in 
search  of  friends. 

Six  months  later,  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  Listen, 
he  wrote:  "I  thank  God  every  day  for  your  visit  of 
last  Winter.  I  wish  Christians  could  realize  how 
many  young  men  are  going  to  ruin  for  the  same 
reason  that  came  so  near  being  my  destruction.  Of 
course,  I  ought  to  have  been  strong  enough  to  with- 
stand the  temptation ;  but  I  was  not.  I  have  talked 
with  several  of  my  old  associates,  in  the  past  few 
months,  and  they  nearly  all  seem  to  have  fallen  into 
bad  habits  from  the  same  reason — nowhere  else  to  go. 
You  have,  through  God's  grace,  been  the  means  of 
saving  me  from  ruin ;  and  I  am  trying  to  repay  you 
and  him  by  trying  to  reclaim  others.  I  spent  last 
evening  at  Mr.  Wilson's ;  his  family  are  all  Chris- 
tians, and  I  feel  very  grateful  to  them  for  their  kind- 
ness to  me  and  their  faith  in  me.  May  my  heavenly 
Father  keep  me  from  bet/aying  their  confidence. 
One  thing  I  have  determined  on:  if  ever  I  have  a 
home  of  my  own,  I  will  not  close  it  against  the 
homeless." 


ffioUCH  -  ME  -J^OTS. 


^ETURNING  from  a  trip  down  town  this 
morning  after  our  Church  festival,  I  met 
my  neighbor  and  sister  in  the  Church, 
Mrs.   Jones;    and  after  the  first  salutations  I 
remarked  with  probably  an  interrogation  point 
in  my  voice:    "I  didn't  see  you  at  our  festival 
last  night.      I   counted  on  you  as  one  of  the 
helpers." 

"No,  we  were  not  there.  No  one  said  any 
thing  to  me  about  it,  and  I  did  n't  propose  to 
crowd  my  company  or  help  where  I  was  not 
wanted." 

"Whyv"  Tsaid,  stammering  for  very  surprise,  -"  I 
thought  every  body  was  solicited  to  bake  or  con- 
tribute something." 

"Well,  yes,  I  believe  the  girls  did  call  on  me  to 
bake  a  cake,  and  I  thought  then  that  I  would,  but 
the  Church  just  treated  us  as  if  we  were  not  mem- 
bers at  all.  No  one  asked  me  to  help  or  asked  my 
advice,  or  even  invited  us  to  attend;  and  I  told  Mr. 
Jones,  if  the  Church  could  get  along  without  us,  I 
guess  we  could  get  along  without  it,  and  we  stayed 
at  home." 

"But,  sister  Jones,  didn't  you  hear  the  announce- 
ment from  the  pulpit  on  Sabbath,  when  the  minister 
invited  all  to  attend?" 


TOUCH-  ME-Nors.  97 

"O,  yes,"  with  a  little  toss  of  the  head;  "but 
we  don't  go  on  invitations  that  were  made  for  every 
body  —  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry,  and  their  families. 
If  we  were  wanted,  why  didn't  somebody  say  so?" 
And  Mrs.  Jones  looked  the  picture  of  offended  dignity. 

"Well,  I  am  sure,  I  don't  know.  I  was  not  on 
the  committee  of  arrangements,  but  if  I  had  been  I 
would  have  as  soon  thought  of  sending  an  invitation 
to  myself  as  to  you.  This  was  a  Church  affair,  and 
I  thought  you  were  a  part  of  the  Church,  and  of 
course  you  would  not  wait  for  a  special  invitation." 
,~-"If  my  services  were  worth  having,  they  were 
worth  asking  for;  and  I  don't  crowd  myself  on  peo- 
ple, as  I  said  before." 

"I  am  sure,  sister  Jones,  no  offense  was  in- 
tended," I  pleaded.  "I  suppose  the  committee  did 
not  think." 

"O  it  didn't  matter  at  all;  if  they  can  live  with- 
out our  help  it's  all  right."  However,  Mrs.  Jones's 
look  and  tone  indicated  that  it  made  a  great  deal  of 
difference  to  her,  and  that  it  would  require  some 
coaxing  to  smooth  her  injured  feelings. 

I  went  home  "blue"  and  out  of  sorts,  for  I  had 
considered  our  festival  a  success,  at  least  as  much  so 
as  hard  work,  late  supper,  and  late  hours  could  make 
it.  "Net  receipts  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars,  and 
nobody  offended  either,"  I  had  said  to  my  husband, 
triumphantly,  only  two  short  hours  before.  He,  the 
•wiseacre,  had  smiled  a  little  increduously,  and  said 
!with  a  patronizing  air,  "Wait  a  little,  my  dear,  the 
returns  are  not  all  in  yet."  And  now  here  was  sister 
Jones,  cross  as  it  was  possible  for  a  Methodist  of 
9 


98  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

twenty-five  years'  standing  to  be,  and  that  we  all 
know  is  sufficiently  cross  to  be  interesting,  to  say 
the  least.  At  any  rate,  she  had  spoiled  my  peace  of 
mind,  as  Bridget  would  say,  "intirely." 

How  could  I  tell  husband  about  it?  I  knew  he 
would  only  smile  as  usual,  and  say,  "Of  course, 
such  affairs  always  offend  somebody."  And,  sure 
enough,  when  I  reported  our  conversation — for  I  had 
to  tell  some  one  to  relieve  my  own  mind — he  made 
almost  the  very  comment  that  I  had  framed  for  him. 

"But,"  I  remonstrated,  "it  is  perfectly  absurd 
for  sister  Jones  to  expect  me  to  coax  her  to  take 
part  in  our  Church  entertainments.  She  has  been  in 
the  Church  longer  than  any  woman  who  worked  there 
all  day,  and  nearly  all  night,  to  make  the  festival  a 
success.  I  think  it  is  too  ridiculous." 

"O  yes,  I  know  it;  but  she  makes  the  fact  of 
her  having  been  in  the  Church  so  long  the  very  reason 
why  she  should  have  received  special  attention.  She 
and  her  sister,  Mrs.  Green,  will  not  come  to  Sabbath- 
school  because  the  superintendent  has  not  solicited 
them  to  take  a  class." 

"Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  broth'er  Jones  does  n't 
come  to  class,  because  you  did  n't  appoint  him 
leader,"  I  said,  a  little  spitefully. 

"Precisely,  my  dear;  and  they  make  things 
pretty  close  for  me,  because  I  do  n't  appreciate  their 
talents.  My  salary  will  fall  short,  probably,  on  ac- 
count of  their  influence  against  me.  Besides,  they 
are  making  themselves  quite  unhappy  over  the  slights 
they  imagine  they  have  received  from  some  of  the 
Church  members." 


TOUCH-ME-NOTS.  99 

' '  O  dear !  what  does  ail  them,  any  way  ?  It 's 
enough  to  provoke  a  saint!"  and  I  groaned  in  des- 
peration." 

' '  O,  there  is  nothing  very  particular  the  matter 
with  them,  only  they  imagine  themselves  of  greater 
importance  than  they  really  are,  and  they  also  imag- 
ine there  is  a  conspiracy  on  the  part  of.  the  Church 
to  depreciate  their  value  ;  and  so  they  feel  called 
upon  to  stand  guard  over  their  rights  and  privileges. 
They  are  so  afraid  that  others  will  not  recognize  their 
rights  that  they  are  on  a  continual  watch  for  evidence 
Qf^  neglect  or  lack  of  appreciation,  and  so  keep 
themselves  in  a  fume  and  fret  all  the  time.  I  have 
to  call  on  their  families  about  twice  as  often  as  any 
others,  or  they  feel  neglected." 

"Yes,  I  know  that;  and  sister  Jones  counts  every 
call  I  make  at  Mrs.  R. 's,  just  opposite  the  Jones's. 
Not  more  than  two  weeks  ago  she  took  occasion  to 
hint  that  it  was  not  good  policy  for  the  pastor's  wife 
to  visit  outsiders  oftener  than  she  did  the  Church 
members.  I  can  't  see  why  people  should  be  so  fussy. 
It  just  provokes  me."  And  I  presume  I  looked  just 
a  little  fussy,  too,  at  that  time. 

Husband  said  soothingly:  "I  wouldn't  let  it 
provoke  me,  if  I  were  you.  It 's  just  their  nature,  I 
guess.  They  are  over-sensitive,  and  they  are  not 
over-sensible,  and  they  let  little  things  annoy  them — 
or,  rather,  they  magnify  the  motes  until  they  look 
immense  beams — and  they  are  thoroughly  unhappy 
themselves,  and  certain  to  make  a  goodly  number  of 
the  community  and  Church  uncomfortable,  if  not 
unhappy." 


ioo  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

' '  But  why  do  n't  you  tell  them  how  foolishly  they 
act,  and  try  to  mend  their  ways?" 

"Because  they  would  only  take  that  as  an  addi- 
tional proof  that  I  was  taking  sides  against  them,  and 
would  only  make  matters  worse  for  them  and  also 
for  myself." 

"  How  can  you  put  up  with  them?  Don't  they 
worry  you?"  and  then  I  laughed  just  a  little  at  the 
absurdity  of  my  questioning. 

Of  course  it  worried  him.  Did  n't  I  remember 
how  awfully  solemn  he  always  looked  on  his  return 
from  a  visit  to  the  Joneses  or  Greens?  And  didn't 
I  know  that  sisters  Jones  and  Green  always  made  it 
a  rule  to  talk  of  their  grievances  every  time  they 
called  at  the  parsonage,  until  I  felt,  after  each  visit, 
as  if  I  was  just  recovering  from  an  attack  of  neu- 
ralgia. "Why  will  such  people  worry  themselves 
and  every  one  else  about  such  trifles  ?" 

"I  think  they  started  wrong  in  the  first  place," 
said  husband,  thoughtfully,  as  he  took  up  his  pen — 
a  hint  of  passing  time,  I  suppose.  "They  seem  to 
have  come  into  the  Church  under  the  impression  that 
they  were  conferring  a  great  honor  upon  it ;  and, 
therefore,  they  expect  special  deference  to  be  shown 
them.  They  are  sort  of  spiritual  invalids,  or  infants, 
whom  the  Church  is  bound  to  humor  and  amuse. 
Instead  of  being  independent,  and  taking  care  of 
themselves,  and  working  for  the  advancement  of  the 
cause  of  Christ,  they  labor  for  their  own  advance- 
ment. Instead  of  asking,  '  What  can  I  do  to  build 
up  the  temporal  or  spiritual  interests  of  the  Church?' 
they  are  watching  to  see  if  their  own  interests  are 


TOUCH-ME-NOTS.  101 

considered  sufficiently  by  their  brothers  and  sisters. 
There  is  an  old  saying  that  the  happiest  people  are 
those  who  live  to  make  others  happy  ;  but  the  Jones 
and  Green  class  seem  not  to  appreciate  the  senti- 
ment, if  they  ever  heard  of  it.  The  question  with 
them  seems  to  be,  Does  the  Church  show  a  proper 
appreciation  of  me  and  my  talents  ?  And,  according 
to  their  notion,  the  Church  is  very  blind,  and  they 
are  unhappy  over  it.  But,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  n't 
worry  over  it  at  all.  Just  let  sister  Jones  alone,  and 
go  on  your  way,  and  ten  years  from  now  you  will  be 
jujSt  as  happy  as  if  sister  Jones  had  been  sweet  and 
pleasant." 

And,  with  this  consoling  speech,  the  pastor  turned 
to  his  writing-desk,  and  the  pastor's  wife  to  her  house- 
keeping ;  but  she  could  not  help  saying,  as  a  sort  of 
last  word:  "Well,  I  wish  there  were  more  earnest 
workers  in  the  Church,  and  fewer  touch-me-nots." 


MHOSE 


HOME  should  be  a  refuge,  a  haven  of 
rest,  a  sort  of  paradise  for  every  member 
of  the  family  ;   and  in  order  that  all  may 
feel  at  home  it  should  be  the  business  of  each 
member   of   the   family — not   of  the  housewife 
only — to    assist    in    making    home    pleasant,    a 
place  to  be  desired  and  longed  for. 

Not  only  should  there  be  suitable  food  pro- 
vided in  a  proper  manner — although  that  is  very 
necessary — but  the  numerous  little  things  that 
combine  to  make  home  pleasant  should  not  be 
forgotten.  There  are  families  who  have  plenty 
of  means,  who  build  a  comfortable  house,  who  fur- 
nish a  parlor  and  a  spare  bedroom  or  two,  with 
elegant  furniture  and  carpets,  and  then  shut  them  up, 
to  be  opened  only  when  visitors  come,  while  the  rest 
of  the  house  is  furnished  but  meanly,  not  at  all  in 
keeping  with  the  "company  rooms."  The  family 
spend  their  evenings  in  the  dining-room,  or  too  fre- 
quently the  kitchen,  while  the  parlor,  with  its  costly 
furnishing,  grows  moldy  or  dusty  for  want  of  use. 

While  spending  a  few  weeks  with  a  friend  once, 
we  called  in  company  upon  a  mutual  friend,  whom  I 
had  not  met  for  some  years,  and,  while  waiting"  for 
the  lady  to  make  her  appearance,  the  husband,  who 
chanced  to  be  slightly  indisposed,  and  had  stayed  at 


THOSE  PARLORS.  103 

home  that  afternoon,  came  into  the  parlor  to  enter- 
tain us.  The  room  was  so  dark  that,  for  a  few 
minutes,  we  could  scarcely  distinguish  each  other's 
features.  The  gentleman  looked  about  the  room  at 
the  closed  shutters  and  drawn  blinds,  and  apologized 
for  the  darkness ;  yet  he  apparently  did  not  feel 
enough  at  home  to  open  the  shutters  or  withdraw 
the  blinds. 

After  our  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the 
gloom,  so  that  we  could  distinguish  objects  a  little 
more  clearly,  we  crossed  the  room  to  examine  some 
engravings  on  the  wall,  and  remarked  upon  their 
beauty.  To  which  the  gentleman  replied,  in  an  in- 
different tone:  "O  yes,  they  are  rather  fine;  but  I 
scarcely  ever  see  them.  In  fact,  I  believe  I  have  not 
been  in  this  room  more  than  two  or  three  times  in 
the  past  year.  My  wife  receives  calls  here,  and  the 
girls  spend  an  evening  here  occasionally  with  some 
of  their  friends ;  and  I  believe  that  is  about  all  the 
use  we  have  for  a  parlor."  And  yet  he  was  a  man 
past  the  middle  age,  who  had  toiled  hard  all  his  life 
to  acquire  the  means  to  live  independently,  and  was 
still  toiling  to  keep  up  appearances  and  to  purchase 
luxuries  that  he  never  enjoyed. 

I  looked  at  his  silvered  hair  and  stooping  form, 
and  thought:  "Is  it  right  for  father  and  mother  to 
work  hard  all  their  lives,  merely  that  they  may  build 
a  handsome  house  and  furnish  its  parlors  for  the  com- 
fort of  comparative  strangers,  while  they  shut  them- 
selves up  in  two  or  three  gloomy  back-rooms  until 
they  are  totally  unfit  to  enjoy  the  comforts  they  have 
worked  for?" 


104  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

It  is  probable  that  his  wife  and  daughters  received 
fashionable  calls  there  ;  fashionable  young  men,  prob- 
ably, spent  their  evenings  lolling  on  the  luxurious 
sofas,  talking  nonsense  to  his  daughters,  while  a  seat 
in  the  dining-room  was  all  he  expected,  and  no  one 
seemed  to  think  it  worth  while  to  open  the  parlor  or 
piano  for  "father's"  comfort  or  amusement.  It  was 
as  much  the  fault  of  the  father,  perhaps,  as  of  any 
one  else,  but  a  mistake  nevertheless. 

Who  is  it  that  can  not  call  to  remembrance  a  half 
hour  spent  in  one  of  those  gloomy,  sepulchral  "best 
rooms,"  where  the  husband,  if  he  chanced  to  come 
in,  would  sit  down  on  the  cushioned  chairs  as  gin- 
gerly as  if  he  were  afraid  they  would  crumble  be- 
neath him  ? — where  the  children  would  eye  each  ar- 
ticle on  the  table  and  "what-not"  as  eagerly  as  if 
they  saw  them  for  the  first,  and  where  even  the 
housewife  herself  felt  ill  at  ease  ? 

If  home  comforts  are  worth  any  thing  at  all,  they 
ought  to  be  so  to  our  own  families.  Public  opinion 
would  condemn  the  man  who  would  furnish  pleasant 
rooms  for  his  neighbor's  wife  and  children,  for  fash- 
ionable young  men  to  lounge  in,  while  his  own  family 
were  not  allowed  to  enjoy  them ;  and  public  opinion 
ought  to  disapprove  of  the  course  of  the  wife  and 
mother,  who,  after  her  husband  has  provided  her 
with  a  comfortable  home,  and  even  luxuries,  should 
refuse,  through  pride  or  a  mistaken  economy,  to  use 
and  enjoy  them  with  her  husband  and  children. 

It  is  often,  however,  as  much  the  fault  of  the 
husband  as  the  wife,  by  insisting,  after  he  has  fur- 
nished the  costly  rooms,  that  he  doesn't  "care  for 


THOSE  PARLORS.  105 

such  privacy,"  or  that  he  has  "no  time  for  luxuries." 
If  we  can  not  afford  to  have  such  luxuries,  and  use 
them,  let  us  have  the  courage  to  do  without  them 
until  we  can  afford  them. 

As  we  ought  to  love  our  own  companion  and  our 
own  children  better  than  any  one  else,  so  we  ought 
to  strive  more  for  their  happiness.  The  family  that 
settles  down  in  the  kitchen  for  the  evening,  or  never 
tries  to  surround  its  every-day  life  with  little  comforts 
and  works  of  requirement,  will  show  it  when  its  mem- 
bers mingle  in  society.  If  we  want  our  children  to 
b^easy  and  graceful  in  our  neighbor's  parlor,  we 
must  help  them  to  cultivate  ease  and  grace  at  home. 

It  is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  have  elegant 
homes  in  order  to  the  cultivation  of  elegant  or  pleas- 
ant manners.  Some  would  fail  to  attain  to -them  in 
any  home.  But  let  our  leisure  hours  be  spent  in 
neat  and  orderly  rooms — in  our  parlor,  if  we  have 
one.  If  not,  let  us  make  our  rooms  as  pleasant  as 
we  can,  making  it  a  rule  that  our  own  loved  ones 
shall  have  the  best  rooms  and  the  best  comforts  that 
we  can  afford  to  give  them  ;  teaching  our  children  to 
be  polite  by  being  polite  to  them  ;  and  there  will  be 
an  air  of  taste  and  refinement  about  our  families  that 
will  amply  repay  us  for  any  sacrifice  we  may  make. 

If  homes  were  all  that  their  names  signify,  if  the 
time  and  money  spent  for  the  pleasures  and  enter- 
tainment of  fashionable  acquaintances  were  expended 
in  cultivating  a  taste  for  home  pleasures,  and  in  mak- 
ing home  attractive,  there  would  be  fewer  young  men 
spending  their  evenings  at  billiard-saloons,  and  fathers 
would  find  home  more  attractive  than  the  club-room. 


M 


HE 


kHAT  preacher's  wife   has  ever  forgotten 
it  ?     You  go    to  Church   in   the  morning 
with  all  the  memories  of  last  Sabbath  and 
last  conference  year  clinging  to  you  in  spite  of 
yourself. 

You  enter  God's  house  with  a  sort  of  vague 
feeling  of  utter  loneliness,  yet  with  an  instinct- 
ive consciousness  that  all  eyes  are  upon  you. 

You    seat    yourself    and    try    to    lift    your 
JL       thoughts  heavenward.      But  you  can  not  pray 
T       with  that  feeling  of  rest  and  contentment  that 
*"       you  could  in  the  old  church  which  has  grown 
familiar  to  you  by  two  or  three  years  of  prayer,  con- 
flict, and  faith. 

While  you  are  striving  to  collect  your  thoughts, 
which  are  "backward  straying,"  your  husband  rises 
from  his  seat  in  the  pulpit,  and  announces  the  hymn, 
a  song  of  thanksgiving  and  praise.  Ah,  you  can 
join  in  that,  for  God's  praise  is  the  same  wherever 
his  people  are  gathered  together.  And  when  the 
choir  strike  the  verse — 

"  God  is  our  sun,  he  makes  our  day, 
God  is  our  shield,  he  guards  our  way," 

you  join   in  with   a   glad   heart.     Glad   that   in  the 
world's  darkest  hour  we  may  have  the  Sun  of  right- 


THE  FIRST  SABBATH.  107 

eousness  pouring  his  blessed  rays  of  comfort  into 
our  hearts. 

The  hymn,  the  prayer,  and  the  second  hymn  are 
ended.  The  text  is  announced,  and  you  try  to 
listen.  But  every  now  and  then  comes  the  thought, 
"Not  one  familiar  face  in  the  whole  congregation." 
The  late  comers  seat  themselves,  and  cast  a  glance 
around  the  church ;  their  eyes  fall  upon  the  stran- 
ger, and  straightway  they  conclude  it  is  the  ' '  new 
preacher's  wife,"  and  lean  their  heads  down  to  tell 
their  next  neighbor  their  opinion,  frequently  in  a 
v/5fce  loud  enough  for  you  to  hear. 

The  sermon  is  over,  the  benediction  is  pro- 
nounced, and  your  husband  comes  down  out  of  the 
pulpit,  and  shakes  hands  with  those  nearest  the 
altar;  for  Methodist  ministers  do  not  usually  wait  for 
a  formal  introduction.  He  touches  your  arm  and 
signifies  his  wish  to  introduce  you  to  some  of  the 
"brethren  and  sisters."  Instantly  you  feel  that  your 
measure  is  being  taken — not  for  a  new  dress,  but  to 
see  whether  you  will  suit  'or  not.  Usually  the 
"  brethren  "  are  satisfied  if  you  speak  cordially  and 
seem  at  ease.  But  not  so  the  sisters.  With  a 
woman's  eye  they  note  down  your  dress,  words,  and 
even  gestures ;  not  with  any  unkind  motive,  perhaps, 
but  because  it  is  their  habit.  At  any  rate,  you  feel 
that  you  are  being  measured,  from  your  bonnet  to 
your  shoes. 

After  you  have  been  introduced  to  several,  and 
you  are  slowly  passing  down  the  aisle,  a  sweet-faced 
woman  lays  her  hand  upon  your  arm,  and  says  in  a 
pleasant  voice:  "You  are  our  new  pastor's  wife,  I 


io8  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

suppose.      My   name    is   Mrs. . .      I    live   on    the 

corner   of   street,    opposite   Sister    B's.     I   am 

.coming  to,  see  you  soon,  and  shall  be  glad  to  see 
3rou  at  my  home."  Something  in  her  voice  and 
manner,  more  than  her  words,  impresses  you  favor-- 
ably,  and,  during  the  week,  you  often  wonder  when 
she  will  call.  As  you  near  the  door,  an  aged  wo- 
man, one  of  God's  chosen  ones,  meets  you,  presses 
your  hand,  and  whispers  a  "God  bless  you,"  with 
her  quivering  lips.  You  lift  your  heart  to  God  in 
thankfulness  that  there  are  some  already  in  your  new 
field  who  are  calling  down  his  blessing  on  you  and 
yours. 

Well  is  it  for  us  that  the  "new"  wears  off  in  the 
course  of  a  few  weeks.  Well  for  us,  and  our  people, 
too ;  for  we  would  make  but  poor  helpmates  for  our 
husbands  if  the  people  should  always  feel  as  far  off 
as  on  that  first  Sabbath. 

But  it  does  wear  away  in  a  short  time.  There  is 
a  funeral.  One  of  the  "little  ones"  of  the  flock, 
may  be.  Your  husband  is  called  upon  to  preach  the 
funeral  sermon.  He  does  the  best  he  can  under  the 
circumstances.  He  speaks  of  God's  promises,  and 
points  the  stricken  ones  to  him  who  bore  our  griefs 
and  carried  our  sorrows.  The  little  one  is  laid  in 
the  grave,  but  the  pastor  is  bound  to  that  family  by 
a  new  and  sacred  tie,  and  they  feel  that  they  love 
their  new  pastor  better  than  they  did  a  week  ago. 
The  chain  that  binds  them  is  not  easily  broken, 
for  one  link  in  their  affectipn  is  on  the  heavenly 
shore. 

Thus  it  is.     Funerals  and  weddings,  sorrows  and 


THE  FIRST  SABBATH.  109 

joys,  unite  the  hearts  of  pastor  and  people,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  year  we  are  as  loath  to  part  with  the 
friends  as  we  were  at  the  close  of  the  former. year. 
But  parting  must  come.  Every  earthly  joy  has  an 
end  ;  but  we  live  on,  comforted  by  the  hope  that, 

"When  our  earthly  life  is  ended, 
And  our  earthly  mission  done, 
We  shall  go  across  the  river 

At  the  setting  of  the  sun  ; 
And  in  God's  celestial  mansions, 

Clothed  in  garments  strangely  fair, 
We  shall  know  the  bliss  of  heaven, 
..— *.  We  shall  meet  each  other  there." 


•U  AND  ^OUR  ]^EIGHBORS. 


OUR  old  neighbors — not  the  nominal,  but 
the  genuine,  orthodox  sort — have  moved 
away,  and   the  "next  house"  is  vacant. 
A  small  board,  on  which  is  painted,   in  rough 
script:     "For  rent.     Apply   to   J.   Smith,  west 
side  Public  Square,"  is  tacked  up  on  the  corner 
of  the  building. 

You  have  enjoyed  the  society  of  the  former 
occupants  most  "intensely."  Mrs.  M.,  with 
her  years  of  experience,  had  taken  you  to  her 
motherly  heart,  when  you  most  needed  her 
counsel  and  love,  and  ever  since  her  presence 
has  been  a  sort  of  benediction  to  you  at  all  tim^s. 
Now  you  miss  her  bright  face  and  cheery  voice,  and 
you  begin  to  wonder  who  will  occupy  the  house  and 
your  heart  next. 

Each  noon  and  night  you  report  as  to  the  various 
applicants  who  have  looked  at  the  premises.  Finally 
you  announce  to  your  Isaac,  as  he  sits  at  his  break- 
fast, sipping  his  coffee  and  reading  the  morning  pa- 
per, "The  Smith  property  is  rented  at  last;  a  load 
of  household  goods  was  moved -in  yesterday."  You 
were  too  sleepy  to  tell  the  news,  the  evening  pre- 
vious. Isaac  looks  up  absently,  says  something  so 
inaudibly  that  you  can  not  quite  make  out  whether 
it  was  meant  for  your  ears  or  his  own,  and  drops  his 


You  AND  YOUR  NEIGHBORS.  in 

eyes  again  to  the  money  markets.  He  is  too  busy 
with  up-town  affairs  to  feel  much  interest  in  the 
people  of  the  home  neighborhood ;  but  not  so  his 
Rebekah.  It  is  a  matter  of  great  import  to  you, 
and  only  the  most  conscientious  politeness  prevents 
your  taking  a  glance  from  behind  the  parlor  blinds, 
"just  to  see  what  they  look  like,  and  if  I  shall  like 
them." 

But  it  is  not  fair  to  judge  your  neighbors  on 
"moving  day" — that  day  of  days,  a  day  which  defies 
the  pen  of  poet  or  painter's  pencil  to  do  it  justice. 
With  what  a  ^voeftil  effort  at  tidiness  does  the  mis- 
tress of  ceremonies  smooth  back  her  natural  frizzes, 
and  how  carefully  she  arranges  the  clean  collar  and 
bright  bit  of  ribbon  about  her  neck,  in  order  that  she 
may  make  a  favorable  impression  on  the  neighbors  to 
whom  she  is  going  ;  but  in  spite  of  such  efforts,  the 
collar  is  soon  soiled,  the  ribbon  is  untied  by  catching 
on  nail  or  hook,  and,  finally,  in  sheer  desperation, 
it  is  taken  off  and  tucked  into  the  pocket,  out  of  the 
way.  No  matter  how  much  we  may  want  to  make 
a  favorable  impression,  it  requires  an  extra  amount 
of  self  possession  and  watchfulness  if  we  maintain  our 
dignity  or  amiability  while  moving  bedsteads,  hang- 
ing window-blinds,  or  arranging  kitchen  furniture. 

But  your  new  neighbors  are  in  at  last,  and  you 
"watch  and  wait  and  wonder"  as  to  who  they  may 
be :  you  watch  to  see  how  they  appear,  day  by  day, 
and  you  form  your  estimate  accordingly;  you  wait 
to  see  if  they  have  many  callers,  and  if  they  seem 
to  be  respectable  or  fashionable ;  you  wonder  what 
Church  they  will  attend ;  if  they  are  likely  to  be 


ii2  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

agreeable  people  ;  if  the  children  will  be  troublesome, 
or  otherwise.  You  make  inquiries  of  your  old  neigh- 
bors across  the  street,  and  of  your  callers,  and  of 
your  pastor,  perhaps.  After  you  have  succeeded  in 
satisfying  yourself  of  their  respectability,  according 
to  your  ideas,  whatever  they  may  be,  you  don  your 
best  dress  and  bonnet,  and,  with  card-case  in  hand 
and  your  politest  smile  where  you  can  call  it  up  on 
short  notice,  you  march  up  to  your  new  neighbor's 
door  and  ring  the  belL 

There  is  a  sort  of  mutual  introduction  between 
you  and  Mrs.  Blank,  a  ceremony  absolutely  neces- 
sary, according  to  custom,  although  you  may  have 
seen  the  lady  a  score  of  times  while  you  listened  — 
unintentionally,  of  course  —  to  the  admonitions  to  the 
little  Blanks,  and  she  has  quietly  taken  your  meas- 
ure as  you  talked  with  the  workman  who  repaired  the 
front  portico,  or  while  you  gave  directions  to  the 
tramp  who  spaded  up  the  bed  for  early  lettuce  and 
radishes. 

The  formal  introduction  over,  you  and  your  neigh- 
bor drift  into  easy  conversation;  little  commonplaces 
at  first,  and  then  the  baby  is  brought  in,  and  though 
it  may  be  very  commonplace  and  ordinary  to  most 
eyes,  to  the  mother  it  is  especially  interesting,  and 
if  you  have  two  or  three  cherubs  at  home  you  are 
easily  interested  in  your  neighbor's  little  one,  and 
before  you  are  aware  of  it  you  are  both  talking  as 
easily  or  as  earnestly  as  if  you  had  known  each  other 
for  months  instead  of  minutes. 

Isaac  is  probably  so  hurried  that  he  has  scarcely 
time  to  speak  with  his  family.  He  "bolts"  his  food 


You  AND  YOUR  NEIGHBORS.  113 

and  then  "bolts"  off  to  his  shop  or  office,  and  if  he 
notices  your  interest  in  your  neighbors  probably 
laughs  at  you  for  being  so  much  concerned  about 
strangers.  It  "doesn't  matter  to  him  whether  they 
are  agreeable  or  selfish;  but  to  you,  shut  in  doors 
the  greater  part  of  the  time,  your  little  ones  on  your 
heart  and  hands,  with  but  scant  opportunity  for  social 
culture,  your  neighbors  go  a  long  way  toward  mak- 
ing up  your  social  circle.  A  mother  who  is  nurse- 
maid and  housekeeper  at  the  same  time  hasn't  much 
time  for  formal  calls,  dress  parties,  or  expensive  lec- 
ture courses;  .but  society,  or  at  least  companionship, 
is  a  necessity  to  her,  and  an  agreeable  neighbor  goes 
a  good  way  toward  supplying  that  want. 

The  husband  and  father  is  crowded  with  business, 
providing  the  daily  bread  for  which  somebody  must 
work  as  well  as  pray,  and  when  he  comes  home  feels 
more  like  resting  than  talking,  perhaps.  The  dailies 
are  not  always  brought  home  the  day  they  are  re- 
ceived, for  busy  people  somehow  "forget"  occasion- 
ally; and  even  dailies  and  magazines  need  something 
else  than  mere  perusal  to  give  real  satisfaction.  A 
magazine  article,  the  Woman's  Kingdom,  or  House 
and  Home,  need  companionship  to  give  real  pleasure 
and  profit  in  their  perusal.  Suppose  there  are  occa- 
sional crumbs  of  gossip  in  neighborly  intercourse,  it 
isn't  all  confined  to  the  mothers,  nor  to  the  "locals" 
in  the  town  paper.  And  while  the  husband  laughs 
at  tlje  chat  about  little  details  of  domestic  work,  of 
which  he  catches  a  stray  word,  or  an  occasional 
glimpse  as  Rebekah  talks  with  her  neighbor,  Mrs.  B. 
or  C.,  he  doesn't  know  that  those  daily  conversations, 


ii4  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

about  what  seem  to  him  only  trifles,  have  been  the 
means  of  saving  him  a  good  many  dollars  in  actual 
outlay. 

He  fancies  himself  a  liberal  man,  and  admires  his 
Avife's  new  suit  and  the  children's  Summer  outfits,  and 
thinks  he  deserves  especial  praise  for  providing  so 
handsomely.  He  doesn't  know  that  the  "supply" 
ran  out  long  before  the  Spring  clothing  was  all  pur- 
chased, and  that  Rebekah's  handsome  suit  was  made 
over  from  a  portion  of  her  wedding  trousseau  that  had 
lain  in  the  trunk  so  long  he  had  forgotten  it,  and  that 
Bessie's  suit,  so  fresh  and  becoming,  is  a  "made- 
over"  organdie  of  her  mother's  girlhood  days,  the 
whole  thing  planned  and  completed  by  those  two 
women,  Rebekah  and  her  next  door  neighbor. 

Perhaps,  if  he  knew,  Isaac  would  object  to  Re- 
bekah's telling  her  neighbor  about  their  private  af- 
fairs and  scant  purse;  but  Rebekah's  neighbor  was 
no  better  off,  and  the  two  Avomen  put  their  heads 
together,  and  as  a  result  the  two  families  are  "as 
stylish  as  any  body."  He  doesn't  know  it,  however; 
neither  does  he  knoAv  that  it  took  several  hours  of 
lying  awake  at  night,  besides  the  numerous  consulta- 
tions, before  the  planning  was  complete  and  they 
succeeded  in  making  "old  clothes  look  'most  as  well 
as  the  new."  Isaac  doesn't  understand  how  his  wife 
comes  to  have  such  a  liking  for  the  old-fashioned 
Avoman  across  the  street;  but  it  is  to  her  encouraging 
Avords  and  her  affectionate  sympathy  that  he  owes 
his  Avife's  cheery  face  and  buoyant  spirits.  The  dear 
old  soul  hasn't  time  to  study  the  fashion  plates,  but 
she  has  time  to  listen  to  the  little  perplexities  of  the 


You  AND  YOUR  NEIGHBORS.  115 

young  mother  and  the  inexperienced  housekeeper, 
and  has  taken  her  into  her  heart,  and  Rebekah  finds 
her  a  "joy  forever,"  if  not  a  beauty.  There  may  be 
more  romantic  friendships,  but  I  doubt  whether  there 
are  any  more  sincere  and  unselfish  ones  than  those 
formed  between  wives  and  mothers,  who,  with  their 
hands,  heads,  and  hearts  crowded  with  domestic  af- 
fairs, are  drawn  toward  each  other  by  the  strong  bond 
of  sisterly  love  and  sympathy  growing  out  of  a  com- 
mon experience. 


IllTTLE  €[ 
®rut 


BARNES  had  been  trying  for  nearly 
six  months  to  overcome  his  appetite  for 
rum,  and  his  friends  thought  he  had  suc- 
ceeded, when  suddenly  he  was  overtaken  by 
temptation,  and  fell  ;  and,  like  all  other  drunk- 
ards, when  he  returned  to  his  cup  he  sank  deeper 
into  sin  than  before.  All  the  efforts  of  his  friends 
seemed  vain.  The  pastor  visited  him,  and  urged 
him  to  try  again  ;  but,  while  he  was  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge his  wrong-doing,  he  did  not  seem  to 
have  the  will  to  try  to  overcome.  "It's  no  use, 
sir.  I  've  tried  it  for  six  months,  and  just  when 
I  thought  myself  safe  I  fell  ;  and  here  I  am,  worse  than 
before.  My  wife  has  lost  all  confidence  in  me,  and 
my  children  only  look  on  me  as  a  poor  drunkard. 
No,  sir  ;  it  's  no  use.  You  may  just  as  well  let  me 
go  down  at  once.  The  sooner  it  is  over,  the  better." 
The  class-leader  and  Sunday-school  superintendent 
visited  him  with  no  better  success.  To  all  their 
pleading  he  returned  the  same  hopeless  answer: 
"It's  no  use,  sir;  I  can't  reform." 

Some  four  months  previous  he  had  taken  charge 
of  a  class  in  Sunday-school,  composed  of  a  half-dozen 
little  girls,  of  about  ten  years  of  age.  He  had 
proved  quite  successful  as  a  teacher,  and  had  won 
their  affection,  and  their  little  hearts  were  very  much 


WHAT  SOME  LITTLE  GIRLS  DID.  117 

grieved  at  his  fall  One  day,  as  they  were  together 
talking  about  it,  one  of  their  number  proposed  that 
they  go  and  ask  him  to  come  back  to  their  school 
and  teach  them.  After  some  little  hesitancy,  they 
agreed  to  go. 

Providence  favored  them,  and  they  found  Barnes 
in  his  carpenter-shop,  and,  in  a  measure,  sober.  He 
looked  surprised  when  he  saw  his  visitors ;  but  he 
invited  them  in,  and  gave  them  seats  on  his  work- 
bench. Annie  Stevens,  the  girl  who  had  first  pro- 
posed the  visit,  had  been  chosen  as  chief  speaker, 
an«T*'she  began,  with  some  little  trembling,  "  Mr. 
Barnes,  we  came  to  see  if  you  would  n't  please  come 
and  teach  our  class  next  Sabbath."  And  then,  al- 
most frightened  at  the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  she 
stopped  short,  at  a  loss  what  to  say  next. 

The  poor  inebriate's  face  flushed  painfully,  and  he 
said,  in  surprise,  "  Me?" 

"  Yes,  you." 

Barnes  shook  his  head. 

"O  no  ;  you  do  n't  want  such  a  fellow  as  me  to 
teach  you.  Do  n't  you  know  that  I  have  n't  been 
sober  for  nearly  a  month  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  know  it ;  but  you  are  going  to  quit 
that  now ;"  and  little  Annie's  voice  grew  steadier. 

"Am  I  ?  How  do  you  know  that?"  and  the  man 
spoke  with  half  a  sneer. 

"O,  we  just  know  you  will ;"  and  the  little  voices 
were  raised  eagerly  as  the  girls  slid  down  from  tfieir 
seat  on  the  work-Men ch,  and  gathered  around  him. 
"Please  say  you  '11  come." 

"But,  children,  I  can  not;"  and  the  man's  voice 

• 


n8  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

was  very  husky.  "Just  as  like  as  not  I  shall  be 
drunk  as  a  beast  before  night." 

But  they  would  not  take  "No"  for  an  answer; 
and  finally  he  promised  to  "think  about  it,"  and 
they  went  away. 

The  little,  heaven-sent  messengers  had  touched  a 
chord  in  his  heart  which  others,  by  their  reasonings 
and  pleadings,  had  failed  to  reach  ;  and  when  they 
were  gone,  Joe  Barnes  sat  there  thinking  about  their 
faith  in  himself,  and  wondering  why  they  had  come. 
Finally  he  got  up,  put  on  his  coat,  and,  after  locking 
his  door,  he  went  to  his  home.  Silently  he  passed  by 
his  wife  and  children,  and  locked  himself  in  his  bed- 
room. There  he  wept  and  prayed  for  strength  to 
overcome  the  demon  appetite,  and  to  make  himself 
worthy  of  the  confidence  of  those  dear  little  girls, 
who  had  so  eloquently  pleaded  for  his  reform. 

For  three  days  he  resisted  the  temptation  to 
drink.  On  the  fourth,  for  want  of  stimulants  and 
loss  of  appetite  for  food,  he  was  confined  to  his  bed. 
His  physician  urged  him  to  take  just  a  little  brandy 
and  water.  He  shook  his  head.  No ;  he  would 
rather  die  than  take  it.  When  Sabbath  came,  he  was 
still  too  sick  to  sit  up  ;  but  when  the  next  came 
around,  he  presented  himself,  very  pale  and  weak,  at 
the  superintendent's  desk,  and  asked  if  he  could  again 
have  his  class,  and  it  was  again  given  him. 

In  the  afternoon  he  was  in  the  class-room  ;  and 
when  he  rose  to  ask  the  forgiveness  of  the  Church  for 
his  wanderings,  he  told  the  story  ef  the  little  workers. 

Said  he:  "It  didn't  trouble  me  much  when  the 
preacher  came  ;  for  I  thought  that  it  was  his  business 


WHAT  SOME  LITTLE  GIRLS  DID.  119 

to  look  after  such  as  I.  When  the  class-leader  came, 
his  words  did  n't  touch  my  heart,  though  I  knew  he 
earnestly  desired  to  see  me  a  sober  man.  But  when 
those  little  girls  came,  and  climbed  upon  my  work- 
bench, and  began  to  beg  me  to  come  back,  and  said 
they  knew  I  would  reform,  I  thought,  '  Surely,  God 
has  sent  them  ;'  and  it  just  broke  my  heart,  and  I 
went  home  and  on  my  knees  promised  God  that,  by 
his  help,  I  would  conquer,  and  would  make  myself 
fit  to  teach  such  blessed  angels." 

And,  through  God's  grace,  he  did  conquer  ;  and, 
whgT?  visiting  the  place  three  years  after,  I  found  him 
still  sobeY,  and  an  earnest  worker  in.  the  temperance 
cause  as  well  as  in  the  Church. 

Little  folks  are  apt  to  think  they  can  not  do  any 
thing  to  make  people  better ;  but  these  little  ones  did 
do  what  older  and  wiser  heads  had  failed  to  do  ;  they 
succeeded  in  getting  this  poor,  tempted,  enslaved 
man  to  forsake  his  sins  and  again  turn  to  God.  Will 
not  our  girls  and  boys  of  the  cold-water  army  do 
likewise  ? 


VALENTINE'S  I)AY. 


MERRY  group  of  young  ladies,  spending 
an  evening  at  Mrs.  Lake's,  were  discuss- 
ing— or,   rather,   chatting   over — the  cus- 
tom of  sending  out  anonymous  letters  on  Val- 
'•^  entine's  day. 

"I  think  it  a  splendid  time  to  pay  up  old 
scores,  and  shall  avail  myself  of  the  opportunity 
in  one  instance,  at  any  rate,"  said  one  young 
lady,  laughing  gayly,  as  she  thought  of  the  cha- 
grin of  a  certain  young  gentleman  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, when  he  should  receive  a  highly 
colored  valentine,  representing  an  exquisitely 
gotten-up  dandy,  with  the  title  "Yourself"  written 
below. 

"I  think  it's  lots  of  fun,"  responded  Maggie 
Snow;  "but  I  don't  know  that  I  dare  send  any 
thing  but  a  genuine  friendly  valentine ;  mother  is  so 
set  against  the'  comic  ones ;  '  blows  in  the  dark '  she 
calls  them,  and  says  no  lady  or  gentleman  should  ever 
send  one." 

"Why,  what  harm  can  there  be  in  having  a  little 
fun?" 

"Especially  when  we  know  they  prove  it,"  que- 
ried one  and  another  of  the  girls,  in  apparent  disap- 
proval of  the  new  notion. 
"No  harm  at  all." 


VALENTINE'S  DAY.  121 

"And  it  serves  to  take  the  starch  out  of  some 
people,  and  gives  them  a  chance  to  see  themselves 
as  others  see  them,"  were  the  responses  from  one  and 
another;  while  two  or  three  were  inclined  to  take 
Mrs.  Snow's  view  of  the  matter. 

"Who  will  settle  this  weighty  question?"  asked 
Mary  Washburne. 

"Appoint  a  judge,"  suggested  Gertrude  Warren, 
a  niece  of  Mrs.  Lake's,  visiting  in  the  house,  and  for 
whose  pleasure  the  young  ladies  had  been  invited  to 
tea;  "let's  leave  it  for  auntie  to  decide." 

jj-he  assent -of  the  company  was  readily  gained, 
and  they  turned  to  Mrs.  Lake,  who  had  sat  quietly 
listening,  without  taking  any  part  in  the  conver- 
sation. 

' '  Now,  auntie,  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it.  Is 
it  wrong  to  send  comic  valentines?  and,  if  it  is,  where 
is  the  harm?  We  have  decided  to  leave  it  to  your 
decision,  and  if  you  say  it  is  wrong  we  will  not  send 
out  a  single  one  of  that  class  this  year.  Is  n't  that 
the  bargain?"  appealing  to  her  companions. 

"Yes,  certainly;  let's  have  the  decision,"  cho- 
rused the  group,  eagerly. 

"It  is  wrong — decidedly  wrong — my  dears;"  and 
then,  as  she  saw  their  look  of  disappointment,  "but 
you  want  to  know  why  I  think  so.  Draw  the  sofa 
and  rockers  nearer  the  fire,  and,  when  you  are  com- 
fortably seated,  I  will  tell  you  why  I  object  to  the 
.custom  of  sending  comic,  or  caricature,  valentines. 
There,  now  you  are  all  ready  and  anxious  to  hear, 
I  suppose,"  as  they  gathered  about  her,  and  Mrs. 
Lake's  face  beamed  with  motherly  kindness  on  the 


122  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

bright  young  eyes  that  looked  into  hers.  "The  cus- 
tom of  sending  anonymous  love  letters  on  Valen- 
tine's day  is  of  comparatively  recent  origin,  and  that 
of  sending  comic  pictures  and  caricatures  is  still  more 
recent;  and,  while  the  first  is  not  a  commendable 
practice,  by  any  means,  the  latter  is  far  less  so.  But 
perhaps  you  will  better  understand  why  I  condemn 
the  practice,  if  I  give  you  some  incidents  which  have 
fallen  under  my  observation  : 

"A  young  man  —  honest,  but  uncultivated  and 
awkward  —  was,  through  this  foolish  custom,  driven 
out  of  a  college  where  he  had  gone  to  prepare  him- 
self for  a  profession.  Some  wild  boys,  who  thought 
more  of  fun  than  of  their  lessons  or  the  feelings  of 
others,  sent  him  an  ugly  caricature  of  an  awkward, 
overgrown  youth.  At  the  bottom  of  the  page,  a  few 
lines  of  very  poor  poetry  designated  the  young  man 
as  the  original  of  the  picture.  Like  most  awkward 
people,  he  was  only  too  conscious  of  his  lack  of  cul- 
ture, and,  stung  with  the  insult  offered  him,  he  left 
the  school,  and  could  not  be  persuaded  to  return  to 
it  or  any  other  outside  of  his  own  neighborhood." 

"O,  he  ought  not  to  have  cared  for  their  non- 
sense, or  should  have  given  them  as  good  as  they 
had  sent,"  and  Maggie  Snow  laughed  at  the  idea  of 
any  one  "caring  about  such  a  little  thing  as  that." 

"But  it  was  not  a  little  thing  to  him,  and  he 
could  not  retaliate,  as  you  could  have  done,  perhaps, 
nor  throw  it  aside  and  forget  it,  as  you  or  others, 
-with  your  independence  of  spirit,  could  do.  It  was 
a  trifling  act,  but  their  desire  for  sport  turned  the 
whole  course  of  their  schoolmate's  future  life. 


VALENTINE'S  DAY.  123 

"A  mischievous  young  lady  sent  a  caricature  to 
a  lady,  writing  a  few  lines  in  imitation  of  the  hand- 
writing of  another  lady,  an  intimate  friend  of  the  one 
to  whom  it  was  sent.  She  inclosed  it  in  another 
envelope  and  returned  it,  as  she  supposed,  to  the 
offending  party.  The  result  was,  a  coolness  sprang 
up  between  them,  and  finally  their  friendship  was 
broken  off  altogether. 

•  "Another  instance:  A  young  man  sent  a  letter 
to  a  young  lady.  The  letter  was  without  signature, 
but  so  worded  as  to  lead  her  to  infer  that  it  was 
fronT  a  gentleman  whose  attentions  she  had  been 
receiving  for  a  long  time,  and  to  whom,  while  there 
was  no  formal  engagement,  she  had  become  very 
much  attached,  and  the  gentleman  had  taken  no 
pains  to  conceal  his  preference  for  her.  The  letter 
accused  her  of  fickleness  and  an  inclination  to  flirt. 
She,  acting  under  the  impression  that  it  was  from  her 
lover,  'and  that  he  had  taken  this  way  to  reprove  her 
for  an  imaginary  offense,  returned  his  former  letters 
and  some  small  gifts  bestowed  by  him  without  a 
word  of  explanation.  The  gentleman,  perfectly  un- 
able to  comprehend  the  cause,  called  upon  her, 
intending  to  ask  for  an  explanation.  The  lady 
refused  to  see  him,  and  he,  feeling  that  injustice  had 
been  done  him,  made  no  further  effort  at  a  reconcili- 
ation, and  their  friendship  came  to  an  end,  and  it  was 
not  until  months  afterward  that  they  learned  that 
they  had  been  the  victims  of  a  foolish  jest,  and  then 
pride  prevented  them  from  offering  any  indication  of 
a  desire  to  renew  their  former  friendship.  The  cause 
of  all  their  trouble  was  a  foolish  desire  to  tease,  and 


124  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

the  young  man  who  wrote  the  letter  had  no  idea  that 
his  thoughtless  joke  would  alienate  the  hearts  of  his 
friends.  Of  course  the  young  lady  acted  rashly,  but 
the  young  man  who  wrote  the  anonymous  letter  did 
wrong  in  making  such  a  misunderstanding  possible." 

"  O,  but  I  would  never  do  any  thing  that  would 
cause  such  trouble  as  that,"  protested  one  of  the 
young  ladies  with  emphasis. 

"When  we  send  such  missives  we  do  not  know 
what  may  be  the  result,  and  it  is  better  not  to  incur  the 
risk,  even  though  we  may  gratify  our  desire  for  sport. 

"  A  young  gentleman  who  has  any  thing  to  say, 
that  is  worth  saying,  need  not  be  ashamed  to  say  it 
in  person  if  the  opportunity  offers ;  and  if  it  does 
not,  a  gentlemanly  letter,  properly  signed,  will  be 
much  more  satisfactory  to  himself  and  to  the  lady 
who  receives  it  than  an  anonymous  one  containing 
sickly  sentimentalism  of  which  both  ought  to  be 
heartily  ashamed.  As  to  caricatures,  no  thoughtful 
person  will  send  one,  even  to  an  enemy,  unless  there 
is  a  willful  desire  to  wound  or  offend.  You  asked  for 
my  opinion,  and  I  have  given  it,  very  frankly,  and  as 
you  have  bound  yourselves  not  to  send  a  caricature  or 
comic  picture  this  year,  I  trust  you  will  be  so  well 
satisfied  with  the  decision  that  by  next  year  you  will 
be  willing  to  vote  it  down  altogether." 

For  a  full  minute-  a  rather  sober  smile  with  an 
audible  sigh,  as  they  thought  of  their  demolished  air 
castles,  was  all  the  reply  given  to  Mrs.  Lake's  little 
lecture.  At  last  one  of  the  number  said, 

"Well,  Mrs.  Lake,  you  have  given  us  some  new 
ideas." 


VALENTINE'S  DAY.  125 

"And  spoiled  some  old  ones  besides, "  added 
Mary  Washburne,  laughing  a  little  uneasily. 

"But,  auntie,  can't  we  use  Valentine's  Day  at 
all?"  asked  Gertrude,  with  a  sorely  disappointed  look 
in  her  eyes.  Mrs.  Lake  looked  into  their  faces  with 
a  smile. 

"I  didn't  intend  to  read  you  such  a  sober  lec- 
ture ;  but  I  have  known  so  many  troubles,  small  and 
great,  grow  out  of  this  foolish  custom,  that  I  want  to 
see  it  abolished  and  something  better  take  its  place; 
and  you  know  you  insisted  on  hearing  my  opinion, 
a  naT^h  at  is  my  "apology.  But,  answering  your  ques- 
tion, Gertrude :  There  is  one  way  in  which  we  might 
be  allowed  to  send  anonymous  packages,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  it  would  be  a  great  improvement  on  the 
present  custom,  and  that  is,  in  bestowing  gifts  or 
chanties  where  they  are  deserved.  The  anonymous 
method  would  relieve  the  person  receiving  the  gift 
from  the  embarrassment  of  feeling  obligated  to  a 
particular  person,  and  the  donor  from  the  no  less 
embarrassing  position  of  receiving  thanks  for  the 
same.  It  is  well  not  to  let  the  '  left  hand  know  what 
the  right  hand  doeth,'  when  we  bestow  charities,  but 
if  we  have  aught  against  our  brother  or  sister,  or 
they  have  a  fault  that  needs  mending,  it  is  our  duty  to 
reprove.  We  had  better  gp  in  the  spirit  of  kindness, 
and,  avoiding  all  unfair  concealment,  deal  with  them 
as  we  would  wish  others  to  do  by  us  under  like  cir- 
cumstances. But,  there,  my  lecture  is  at  a  close, 
'and  thanking  the  audience  for  the  respectful  atten- 
tion,' I  would  suggest  that  we  turn  to  something  more 
cheerful,  and  have  a  song  with  piano  accompaniment." 


J5-ALTER  5?Z;ILLOUGHBY'S  MEMPTER. 


lALTER  WILLOUGHBY  did  not  come 
down  to  breakfast  on  the  morning  after 
New- Year's.  The  fact  that  he  had  been 
brought  home  the  night  before  in  a  state  of 
semi -unconscious  intoxication,  and  that  his 
father  had  met  him  and  assisted  him  to  his 
room,  made  him  shrink  from  meeting  the  fam- 
ily at  the  breakfast  table.  At  a  late  hour  he 
arose,  dressed,  and  prepared  to  go  out.  Just 
as  he  had  laid  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the 
front  door,  Mr.  Willotighby  opened  the  door 
of  the  study  and  said,  "Walter,  will  you 
come  in  here  a  moment?  I  wish  to  speak  with  you." 
Very  reluctantly  the  young  man  replaced  his  hat  on 
the  rack  and,  with  his  overcoat  still  on,  entered  his 
father's  library,  and  stood  waiting  to  hear  the  ex- 
pected reproof.  "Sit  down,  Walter,  I  want  to  talk 
with  you  about  last  night;"  and  Mr.  \Villoughby 
spoke  kindly,  though  sadly.  "I  suppose  you  know 
in  what  condition  you  were  brought  home?" 

Walter  nodded,  while  an  angry  flush  overspread 
his  face.      "I  do,  sir." 

"And,  I  suppose,  I  need  not  tell  you  how  mor- 
tified your  mother  and  I  feel,  that  our  son  should  so 
far  forget  himself  as  to  disgrace  us  in  this  manner." 
Unconsciously  Mr.  Willoughby's  tone  had  become 


WALTER  WILLOUGHBY'S  TEMPTER.  127 

harder  as  lie  proceeded,  and  the  son's  face,  which 
had  at  first  reddened,  now  paled  under  the  rebuke 
which  cut  more  by  the  tone  than  the  words.  The 
father  waited  for  a  moment,  and  then  continued: 
"Your  mother  and  I  are  very  much  hurt  at  your 
conduct,  but  as  this  is  the  first  offense  of  the  kind 
we  are  willing  to  forgive  you,  provided  it  is  not  to 
be  repeated  in  future."  Walter  had  not  looked  up 
once  while  his  father  was  speaking,  and  now  he 
did  not  answer,  but  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
blazing  grate. 

/For  some  moments  the  father  waited  for  a  reply, 
but  none  came,  and  then  he  said  sadly,  his  love  and 
anxiety  overcoming  his  anger  at  his  son's  fault:  "Are 
you  not  willing  to  promise  this,  my  son?" 

The  young  man  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  be- 
fore his  father.  "No,  I  "am  not  willing  to  make  any 
such  promise,  because  I  should  not  be  likely  to  keep 
it  if  I  did,"  he  said  bitterly.  "Mother  is  ashamed 
of  me  and  mortified  at  what  I  have  done?  I  am 
glad  of  it — may  be  it  will  do  her  good,  and" 

"Walter,"  and  Mr.  Willoughby's  voice  was  stern 
enough  now,  "Do  you  dare  to  speak  disrespectfully 
of  your  mother?" 

"Well,  I — I — before  I  make  any  promises  I  want 
to  speak  with  mother  about  it." 

He  paused,  and  then  added,  "I  thought  at  first  I 
would  say  nothing  to  her  about  it,  but,  perhaps,  it  is 
,  as  well  to  have  it  over.  Will  you  please  ask  mother 
to  come  in?" 

When  the  mother  came  a  few  minutes  after,  her 
eyes  red  with  weeping,  the  son  arose  respectfully 


128  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

and  gave  her  the  easy-chair,  while  Mr.  Willoughby 
again  resumed  his  seat. 

As  soon  as  his  mother  was  seated,  Walter  said, 
hastily,  as  if  anxious  to  get  over  an  unpleasant  task, 
"  Father  has  been  lecturing  me  on  last  night's  doings, 
and  says  that  you  are  willing  to  forgive  me  because 
it  is  the  first  time,  and  provided  I  promise  that  it 
shall  not  occur  again.  -I  want  to  say  that  last  night 
was  not  the  first  by  at  least  a  half  dozen  times. " 

"O  Walter!"  and  there  was  a  world  of  agony  in 
the  mother's  voice. 

"Of  course  you  are  shocked  and  very  much 
ashamed  of  me,  but — please  father,"  as  Mr.  Will- 
oughby was  about  to  speak,  "don't  interrupt  me,  I 
will  say  it;  I  have  kept  this  from  you  until,  I  am 
afraid,  your  son  is  in  a  fair  way  to  become  a  con- 
firmed drunkard,  and,  if  I  am,  you  have  no  one  to 
blame  but  yourselves !  If  I  die  a  drunkard  it  is  you 
who  have  made  me  such!"  and  the  words  were  fairly 
hissed  into  the  ears  of  the  father  and  mother.  Mr. 
Willoughby  arose  to  his  feet,  and  laid  a  hand  on  his 
son's  shoulder. 

"Walter,  sit  down.  You  are  yet  half-crazed  with 
the  liquors  you  drank  yesterday,  and  I  will  not  per- 
mit you  thus  to  insult  your  mother  and  myself." 

The  young  man  shook  off  the  father's  hand. 

"  No,  father,  I  am  not  drunk,  but  in  sober 
earnest.  The  first  wine  I  ever  tasted  my  mother 
made,  and  you  asked  me  to  drink  it;  you  filled 
the  glass  with  your  own  hand,  and  told  me  it  was 
harmless ;  and  for  nearly  ten  years  you  Jiave  been 
feeding  my  appetite  with  what  you  call  'domes- 


WALTER  WILI.OUGHBY'S  TEMPTER.  129 

tic '  wine,  until  now  I  am  not  satisfied  with  that  alone, 
but  must  have  something  stronger.  You  want  me  to 
promise  to  keep  sober  in  the  future.  I  shall  make 
no  such  promise,  unless  you  and  mother  will  agree 
to  remove  the  accursed  stuff  from  your  table  and  out 
of  my  sight ;  and  God  only  knows  whether  I  shall 
be  able  to  overcome  my  appetite  even  then  ;"  and, 
with  a  groan,  the  unhappy  young  man  sank  into  a 
chair,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

The  father  sat  like  one  stunned,  while  the  mother 
sobbed  hysterically.  Presently  Walter  looked  up, 
ancVsaid  sadly  :- 

"  If  I  could  have  gone  on  in  my  own  way,  with- 
out your  knowing  it,  I  never  should  have  said  what 
I  have  ;  but  if  you  can  not  help  me,  perhaps  you 
may  save  my  brothers  from  a  like  temptation.  And 
O,  mother !"  as,  overcome  by  his  feeling,  he  kneeled 
by  her,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  "will  you 
not  help  me  ?  Forgive  me  for  what  I  have  said ;  for 
I  have  said  it  more  for  Harry's  and  Willy's  sake  than 
for  my  own.  For  God's  sake,  remove  the  temptation 
from  them  before  it  is  too  late." 

The  mother's  only  reply  to  this  petition  was  to 
twine  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  her  penitent  boy, 
and  sob  on  his  shoulder.  When  each  had  grown 
calmer,  Walter  rose  from  his  knees,  and,  reaching 
out  his  hand  to  his  father,  he  said 

"  Forgive  me  for  the  past  and  for  what  I  have 
.said  this  morning,  and  I  am  willing  to  try  to  overcome 
my  appetite  for  strong  drink;  but  I  can  make  no 
promises.  I  have  vowed  more  than  a  dozen  times 
that  I  would  never  touch  it  again,  and  have  as  often 


130  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

broken  these  vows ;  and  I  have  no  confidence  in  my 
good  resolutions  for  the  future." 

Mr.  Willoughby  grasped  his  son's  hand  as  he 
arose,  and  the  two  men  stood  facing  each  other — the 
one  in  the  bloom  of  manhood's  first  years,  the  other 
with  the  gray  hairs  creeping  in  among  the  brown. 

"  My  boy,"  and  the  father's  voice  trembled  with 
emotion,  "  if  I  had  known  this  in  the  beginning  I 
would  rather  have  given  my  own  life  than  thus  to 
have  marred  yours.  But  perhaps  it  is  not  too  late. 
Your  mother  and  I  will  help  you,  and  God's  grace  is 
sufficient  for  all  our  needs.  May  he  help  us  to  do 
our  duty  !"  and  Mr.  Willoughby  left  the  room. 

Walter  turned  to  his  mother,  who  still  sat,  like 
one  in  a  dream,  and  said,  trying  to  smile  through  his 
tears  : 

"  Mother,  have  you  no  word  of  forgiveness  or 
encouragement  for  your  boy  ?" 

For  an  answer  the  mother  drew  her  son  to  her 
arms,  and  kissed  his  flushed  and  feverish  brow,  and 
said : 

"Forgive  me,  my  child  ;  I  knew  not  what  I  did." 

Walter  Willoughby  did  not  go  down  town  that 
day,  but,  hanging  his  overcoat  again  on  the  rack,  he 
spent  the  day  in  his  own  room. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  there  was  no  more  "do- 
mestic" wine  used  in  that  household.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Willoughby  had  learned,  by  sad  experience,  that 
fermented  wine,  even  though  under  the  title  home- 
made, may  create  a  thirst  for  stronger  drinks,  and 
lead  to  ruin. 

Young  Willoughby  had  many  a  hard  struggle  be- 


WALTER  WILLOUGHBY'S  TEMPTER.  131 

fore  he  overcame  his  evil  habits,  and  more  than  once 
he  came  near  falling ;  but,  by  the  kind  words  and 
encouragement  of  his  conscience-stricken  parents, 
who  spared  no  pains  to  atone  for  the  wrong  they  had 
done  to  their  boy,  he  finally  became  a  sober  man, 
and,  through  God's  Spirit,  a  Christian  m.an. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  not  only  removed  the 
tempter  from  their  own  home,  but  they  also  used 
their  influence  to  induce  other  parents  to  shun  the 
foolish  and  sinful  practice  that  had  come  so  near 
wrecking  their  son's  life,  and  which  still  caused  them 
,  heartaches,  and  anxiety. 


5^  CHRISTMAS  i^TORY. 


was  a  pleasant  fireside  picture.     A  hand- 
some looking  man  of   fifty  years,   seated 
at  a  table  reading  the  evening  paper,  and 
opposite,  a  woman,   younger  perhaps  by  five 
or  ten  years.     Looking  at  her  face  you  would 
say   she  was  not   yet  forty ;    but  glancing  at 
her  hair  you   see   that   the  silver  is  creeping 
into   it,  and    you   leave    her    age    undecided. 
She  is  busy  crocheting  a  comforter  of  bright 
¥      Berlin  wool.     Her  fingers  fly  swiftly,  but  every 
•fc      few  minutes   she   turns  her  eyes  toward   the 
T      door,  as  if  half-expecting  it  to  open. 
At    last    the    gentleman    laid    down     his    paper, 
shrugged    his    shoulders   and  drew  his  chair  a  little 
nearer    the   fire.     Presently  he   turned   to   his   com- 
panion with, 

' '  Only  two  more  days  until  Christmas,  wife.  I 
declare,  how  time  flies ;  I  hardly  realize  that  it  is  so 
near.  By  the  way,  have  you  decided  what  the  chil- 
dren are  to  have  this  year?  Only  two  days,  you 
know." 

The  wife  "knew."  For  the  past  four  weeks  her 
hands  and  head  had  been  busy  planning  little  sur- 
prises for  her  family.  But  in  her  heart  was  an  ach- 
ing, restless  feeling,  as  she  compared  the  coming 
Christmas  with  the  last,  and  remembered  that  there 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  133 

was  one  less  to  buy  presents  for  now  than  on  last 
Christmas.  And  as  her  husband's  words  recalled  the 
past,  she  wondered  if  it  was  not  a  good  opportunity 
to  put  in  one  more  plea  for  her  first-born,  her  prod- 
igal son.  She  answered,  while  the  tears  trembled  in 
her  voice, 

' '  Yes,  I  know,  but  it  will  hardly  seem  like 
Christmas  without  Willie." 

A  cloud  gathered  on  Mr.  Dustan's  face;  his 
manner  changed,  and  he  answered  almost  angrily, 

"  I  thought  we  were  done  talking  on  that  subject 
William  has  made  his  own  choice,  and  he  must  abide 
by  it.  No  word  of  mine  shall  bring  him  home." 
And  with  a  quick,  impatient  movement,  that  showed 
how  unpleasant  the  subject  was  to  him,  he  arose  and 
left  the  room.  Mrs.  Dustan  picked  up  her  work 
again  with  a  sigh ;  but  the  gathering  tears,  one  by 
one,  trickled  down  her  cheeks  and  fell  upon  the 
bright  work  in  her  hands.  At  last,  overcome  by  her 
feelings,  she  bowed  her  head  on  the  table  and  sobbed 
aloud  ;  but  in  a  little  while  became  calm,  folded  up 
her  work,  took  the  light  and  left  the  room. 

It  was  the  old  story.  A  wild,  impetuous  boy, 
impatient  of  home  restraint,  a  failure  on  the  part  of 
the  father  to  understand  his  boy's  impulses,  and  an 
effort  to  break  the  "stubborn  "  will  instead  of  trying 
to  direct  it.  Under  the  influence  of  passion  the  boy 
had  left  home,  and  the  father's  wounded  pride  re- 
fu^ed  to  ask  his  son  to  return.  One  letter  only 
had  Willie  written  home,  asking  "mother"  not  to 
forget  him,  and  saying,  "If  father  says  for  me  to 
come  home,  I  will."  But  the  father  would  not  say 


134  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

it,  despite  the  mother's  pleading.  Nothing  more 
was  heard  of  him.  Ten  months  had  passed,  and 
the  parents  knew  not  whether  he  was  living  or 
dead. 

Nothing  was  said  about  Christmas  at  the  break- 
fast table  the  next  morning.  The  children  saw  that 
father  and  mother  were  unusually  silent  and  seemed 
to  feel  the  gloom,  and  so  it  was  almost  a  silent 
breakfast.  But  all  day  long  Mrs.  Dustan's  words 
kept  ringing  in  her  husband's  ears,  "It  will  not 
seem  like  Christmas  without  Willie,"  and  he  wished 
she  had  not  said  it.  On  his  way  home  he  called 
to  mind  their  wedding  day,  and  the  delicate,  girlish 
form  of  her  who  stood  by  his  side,  and  promised 
to  take  him  "for  better  or  for  worse."  And  then 
Willie's  face  rose  up  before  him,  and  he  saw  him 
as  when  a  child  he  used  to  run  to  meet  him  on 
his  return  from  the  labors  of  the  day.  And,  although 
he  was  proud  of  his  younger  children,  yet  the  mem- 
ory of  his  eldest  boy  stirred  his  heart,  and  the  kiss 
he  imprinted  on  his  wife's  cheek  was  more  loving 
than  usual.  At  the  table  he  noticed,  as  never  before, 
that  she  looked  thin  and  pale,  with  a  sadness  about 
her  mouth  even  when  she  smiled. 

All  the  evening  he  cast  occasional  glances  at  her 
from  behind  his  evening  paper,  to  see  if  he  was  not 
mistaken  about  those  faded  cheeks.  Something  sug- 
gested that  perhaps  if  he  would  send  for  Willie  to 
come  home  her  step  would  be  less  weary  and  her 
eyes  brighter  ;  but  he  put  it  aside,  immediately.  "  Of 
course  she  looks  older ;  one  can  not  expect  a  woman 
to  look  as  rosy  at  forty  as  she  did  at  twenty,"  he 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  135 

says  to  himself,  and  then  turns  to  his  paper  to  shut 
out  unpleasant  thoughts. 

Presently  Eddy,  the  youngest,  a  boy  of  ten  years, 
left  the  table  and  the  book  he  had  been  reading  to 
look  for  another.  Those  within  his  reach  did  not 
suit,  and  at  last  climbing  upon  a  chair,  to  see  what 
was  on  the  higher  shelves,  his  eyes  caught  sight  of  a 
bundle  of  picture  papers  and  old  school  books,  and 
he  eagerly  called  out, 

"Mother,  may  I  look  at  these  old  papers?" 

Busy  with  her  own  thoughts  she  answered  "Yes," 
with/mt  looking-  up,  and  Eddy,  delighted  with  the 
prospect,  brought  them  to  the  table.  They  proved 
to  be  Willie's  books  and  papers,  which  the  mother 
had  stored  away  from  all-  eyes  but  her  own.  For  a 
few  moments  the  boy  busied  himself  with  the  pic- 
tures, and  then  picked  up  a  soiled  and  torn  Reader, 
with  the  owner's  name  and  a  date,  five  years  back, 
written  on  the  outside.  The  name  was  written  in  a 
cramped,  boyish  hand,  and  Eddy  read  slowly  and 
distinctly,  "Willie  Dustan."  The  father  gave  an 
involuntary  start,  as  if  even  the  name  of  his  absent 
boy"  stung  him.  Mrs.  Dustan  half  arose  to  remove 
the  books,  but  on  a  second  thought  resumed  her 
seat,  and  the  children  gathered  around  their  brother, 
and  were  soon  deeply  interested  in  books  and  papers 
that  were  "brother  Willie's;"  but  their  words  were 
only  in  whispers,  for  they  had  learned  months  ago 
ijot  to  talk  of  Willie  in  their  father's  presence. 

At  last  the  books  were  put  away,  the  good-nights 
were  said,  and  Mr.  Dustan  was  left  to  finish  his  paper. 
But  it  failed  to  interest  him,  and  at  last  he  laid  it 


136  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

down  with  a  sigh.  As  he  did  so,  his  eye  caught 
sight  of  something  on  the  carpet.  He  picked  it  up, 
and  found  it  to  be  Willie's  Album,  a  present  from 
himself  on  the  last  Christmas,  and  he  remembered 
with  a  sigh  the  pleasures  of  that  last  Christmas.  There 
was  something  in  the  boy's  hand  written  on  the  first 
page,  but  the  father  laid  the  book  down  and  com- 
menced pacing  the  floor.  He  wondered  if  his  boy 
was  still  alive,  and  whether  he  thought  of  home  and 
would  like  to  be  there.  Again  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  album.  He  picked  it  up  and  turned  again  to  the 
first  page,  and  before  he  was  aware  of  it  he  was 
reading,  "This  book  is  a  Christmas  present.  Father 
and  mother  never  forget  to  have  some  pleasant  sur- 
prise for  me,  even  though  father  does  say  I  am  the 
most  troublesome  of  all  his  children.  I  am  sixteen 
years  old,  yet  I  do  not  remember  a  Christmas  when 
they  failed  to  think  of  me.  I  wonder  if  there  will  ever 
come  a  Christmas  when  they  will  forget  me.  I  won- 
der if  next  Christmas  will  be  as  pleasant  as  this." 

Mr.  Dustan  laid  down  the  book.  "Perhaps  I 
was  too  hard  on  him.  People  used  to  say  Willie 
looked  like  me.  May  be  we  are  too  much  alike  in 
temperament;  but,"  with  a  sigh,  "it  is  too  late.  I 
do  not  know  where  he  is,  and  could  not  send  for  him 
if  I  would." 

Christmas  morning  came,  clear  and  cold.  But 
with  all  their  greetings  there  is  a  chord  missing,  and 
they  all  feel  it.  even  down  to  Eddy,  who  is  the  most 
joyous  and  thoughtless  of  all.  One  package  is  yet 
untouched,  and  Mr.  Dustan  picks  it  up  and  opens  it. 
It  is  a  neat,  gilt-edged  Bible,  and  on  the  fly-leaf  is 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 


137 


written:  "  To  Willie,  from  his  mother."  It  is  the 
mother's  token  that  her  absent  darling  be  not  forgot- 
ten. He  lays  it  down,  glances  at  his  wife's  pale 
cheeks  and  tearful  eyes,  and  wishes  for  her  sake  that 
Willie  were  home  once  more. 

When  breakfast  was  over  and  they  had  gathered 
around  the  fire  for  their  morning  devotion  the  story 
of  Bethlehem's  babe  was  selected  as  appropriate  to 
the  day.  When  they  came  to  the  verse,  "Glory  to 
God  in  the  highest,  on  earth  peace,  and  good  will 
to  men!"  the  father  seemed  to  read  it  for  the  first 
tisrfe.  "On  earth  peace;"  but  there  was  very  little 
real  peace  in  his  heart  on  that  morning.  They  knelt 
in  prayer,  but  when  they  came  to,  "Forgive  us  our 
trespasses  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against 
us,"  his  voice  faltered  and  he  felt  that  he  could  not 
say  it  as  he  should. 

All  day  long  the  angel's  song,  and  "Forgive  us, 
as  we  forgive,"  seem  strangely  blended  in  his  mind; 
even  the  church  bell  seemed  to  say,  "Forgive."  It 
was  a  sad  day  for  both  husband  and  wife,  yet  neither 
mentioned  the  great  load  that  was  weighing  them 
down. 

Evening  came  at  last;  once  more  they  bowed  in 
prayer  while  their  thoughts  were  running  out  after 
the  absent  one  who  made  the  house  so  lively  only 
one  year  ago.  After  the  children  had  said  their  good- 
nights,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dustan  were  left  alone.  All 
day  long  the  mother's  heart  had  yearned  for  her  boy; 
she  had  been  hoping  that  the  thought  of  this  day 
would  bring  the  wanderer  home.  But  the  day  is 
past  and  he  has  not  come.  The  day  that  opened 


138  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

clear  and  calm  has  been  followed  by  a  snow-storm  at 
night,  the  wind  is  moaning  through  the  trees,  and 
the  shutters,  jarred  by  the  storm,  make  the  evening 
doubly  sad.  For  some  time  they  sat  in  silence,  and 
then  Mrs.  Dustan  arose  and  left  the  room.  How 
long  she  was  gone  her  husband  never  knew.  Busy 
with  his  own  thoughts,  he  scarcely  missed  her  from 
his  side;  and  as  he  sat  there  surveying  the  past  and 
trying  to  look  into  the  future,  all  his  pride  forsook 
him,  and  he  saw  only  his  boy  as  he  was  years  ago, 
with  his  sweet,  willful,  yet  cunning  ways,  and  the 
father's  heart  triumphed  over  the  man.  All  his 
anger  was  gone  and  he  longed  to  take  his  child  in 
his  arms,  willful  and  disobedient  as  he  had  been. 

Presently  there  is  a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  Mrs.  Dustan  speaks,  a  sense  of  joyousness  strug- 
gling through  her  grief: 

"Father,  if  Willie  should  come  back  to  us  to- 
night, could  you  not  forgive  him  for  the  sake  of  him 
who  came  to  save  usf 

Without  lifting  his  bowed  head,  the  father  sobs 
out:  "Yes,  yes;  for  his  sake!  and  I,  too,  have  been 
wrong.  I  see  it  all  now" — and  before  he  has  time 
to  finish  the  sentence,  there  is  an  arm  around  his 
neck,  and  Willie's  face  is  laid  close  beside  his  fa- 
ther's. ' '  Father,  I  have  come  back.  I  was  wrong ;  I 
am  sorry  for  the  past ;  I  was  so  lonely,  and  when  the 
Christmas  bells  reminded  me  of  home,  I  could  not 
stay  away.  Only  be-  patient  with  me,  father,  and  I 
will  try  to  be  a  better  boy." 

Until  long  after  midnight,  they  talked  of  the  past 
and  the  future,  and  when  they  separated  for  the  night 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  139 

they  understood  each  other  better  than  they  ever  had 
done  before. 

And  during  the  years  that  Willie  remained  under 
his  father's  roof,  Mr.  Dustan  never  forgot  those 
pleading  words  of  his  returning  prodigal:  "Only  be 
patient  with  me,  father;"  and  the  remembrance  of 
that  Christmas  night  helped  both  father  and  son  to  be 
patient  of  each  other's  faults. 

The  brothers  and  sisters  were  surprised,  in  the 
morning,  at  the  news  of  Willie's  return,  and  Eddy 
wished  he  "had  only  come  Christmas  morning,  in- 
stead of  at  night."  But  the  mother  felt  that  God 
had  brought  it  all  about  in  his  own  good  time,  and 
Willie's  return  had  been  at  the  very  hour  when  his 
father's  heart  was  best  prepared  to  receive  him. 


ONE'S  ]V[EANS. 


(RS.  HUBBARD  was  spending  the  after- 
noon  with   her   friend,   Mrs.    Miller,  and 
the  two  ladies  sat  with  their  work  in  the 
cozy  sitting-room  of  the  little  cottage.  They  had 
,  ^  only  known  each  other  for  a  couple  of  years, 
but  these  two  years  had  been  sufficient  time  in 
which  to  form  a  very  strong  mutual  attachment, 
and  they  were  usually  very  free  to  express  their 
thoughts  and  wishes.     To-day  Mrs.  Miller  was 
not    in    her    happiest    mood,    and  was  glad  of 
a    friend    to    whom    she    could    unburden    her 
heart. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Mr.  Miller  to-day,  that  I  am 
tired  of  living  in  this  little  house,  and  I  must  have  a 
larger  one,"  she  said,  by  way  of  introducing  the  sub- 
ject uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Miller!  I  am  sure  your  house  is 
very  cozy  and  comfortable.  I  enjoy  your  little  rooms 
and  surroundings  so  much." 

"Seeing  them  occasionally  is  very  different  from 
living  in  them  year  in  and  year  out,"  Mrs.  Miller 
answered,  a  little  fretfully. 

"  I  suppose  your  husband  is  able  to  buy  a  larger 
house,"  Mrs.  Hubbard  answered,  quietly. 

"Of  course,  he  is,  or  I  should  n't  ask  him,"  and 


LIVING  WITHIN  ONE'S  MEANS.  141 

Mrs.  Miller  looked  hurt  at  the  insinuation.  "He  has 
five  thousand  loaned  where  he  can  get  it  at  six  weeks' 
notice.  I  called  on  Mrs.  Heath  yesterday,  and  she 
has  just  got  settled  in  her  new  house  —  in  splendid 
style,  too.  When  I  came  home,  every  thing  here 
looked  so  shabby,  and  my  rooms  so  little  and  '  boxy ' 
compared  with  hers,  that  I  took  a  good  cry." 

"But,  my  dear,  your  family  is  so  much  smaller 
than  Mrs.  Heath's  that  you  do  not  need  as  large  a 
house  as  she  does. " 

Mrs.  Hubbard  did  not  dare  say  that  Mr.  Miller's 
income  was  smaller,  too. 

"That  is  just  what  husband  said  to-day;  but  I 
told  him  I  never  should  be  satisfied  until  I  have  a 
larger  house.  The  Williamses  offer  theirs  for  just  five 
thousand  dollars,  and  it  is  cheap  at  that,  and  if  teas- 
ing will  .do  any  good,  I'm  sure  to  have  it ;"  and 
Mrs.  Miller  smiled  knowingly,  as  she  picked  up  her 
work  again,  which  had  dropped  from  her  hands  while 
talking. 

Mrs.  Hubbard  did  not  return  her  friend's  smile, 
but  knitted  very  busily  for  a  few  moments,  in  silence; 
presently  she  said:  "Would  you  like  to  hear  a  little 
story  about  myself?" 

"Of  course,  I  would;  tell  all  the  stories  you 
please,  but  don't  lecture  me,"  and  Mrs.  Miller 
laughed  a  little  uneasily. 

"I  don't  want  to  lecture  you,  my  friend;  but  in 
'all  our  confidences,  I  believe  I  have  never  told  you 
that  my  husband  was  once  a  merchant,  with  a  little 
capital  of  his  own,  instead  of  a  clerk  at  a  thousand  a 
year  ?' ' 


142  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"No,  you  never  told  me  that!"  and  Mrs.  Miller 
looked  very  much  surprised. 

"Ten  years  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Hubbard,  "I  began 
to  feel  that  my  house  was  getting  too  small  for  my 
family,  and  too  small  and  shabby  when  compared 
with  the  residences  of  my  fashionable  friends ;  and 
so  I  undertook  to  persuade  my  husband  to  sell  our 
little  home  and  buy  another,  better  suited  to  my 
taste,  and,  as  I  made  myself  believe,  to  our  circum- 
stances. I  had  hard  work,  at  first,  as  John  insisted 
that  he  could  not  spare  the  amount  from  his  busi- 
ness ;  however,  he  finally  agreed  to  my  wishes,  and 
bought  a  house  in  a  more  fashionable  street.  It  was 
not  so  large  as  I  should  have  liked,  but  it  was  a 
great  deal  larger  and  more  showy  than  the  old  home, 
and  I  felt  that  it  would  be  quite  an  advance  on  our 
former  style  of  living.  My  husband  did  not  seem  as 
enthusiastic  as  myself  about  the  matter,  but  I  flat- 
tered myself  that  when  we  were  once  in  our  new 
home  he  would  be  as  pleased  as  I  was.  When  the 
time  came  for  moving,  I  found  that  I  had  not  half 
enough  furniture,  and  what  I  had  would  look  very 
shabby  in  the  new  house,  and  so  I  made  the  tour  of 
the  furniture  shops,  to  procure  furniture  that  was 
suitable.  The  prices  were  higher  than  I  anticipated ; 
but,  of  course  I  must  have  furniture,  and  so  I  ordered 
what  I  needed.  When  the  men  came  to  put  up  the 
furniture,  there  were  a  good  many  things  which  I  had 
forgotten,  and  which  they  insisted  I  must  have  or 
my  house  would  not  be  half  furnished.  I  felt  that 
the  expense  was  too  great,  but  persuaded  myself 
that,  as  I  had  a  nice  house,  it  would  be  foolish  not 


LIVING  WITHIN  ONE'S  MEANS.  143 

to  furnish  it  properly.  I  felt  a  little  bit  frightened, 
when  the  bill  was  sent  in,  and  I  found  it  was  nearly 
twice  as  much  as  I  supposed  it  would  be ;  but,  as 
John  paid  it  without  complaining,  I  thought  perhaps 
it  would  all  come  out  right. 

"I  soon  found,  however,  that  my  large  house  re- 
quired more  work  to  keep  it  in  order  than  the.  small 
one,  and  I  was  compelled  to  hire  another  girl.  My 
next-door  neighbor  had  a  nurse,  and  I  found  that, 
if  I  kept  up  with  the  style  of  our  neighborhood,  I 
must  do  as  others  did  ;  and  so  I  procured  a  nurse- 
girf,  although  I  had  serious  doubts  as  to  her  capacity 
or  morals.  We  soon  sold  the  old  home,  although  at 
considerable  discount  on  our  original  price,  and  it 
served  to  help  make  up  the  second  payment  on  the 
new  home.  Things  went  pretty  well  for  a  couple  of 
years,  though  I  found  that  I  had  to  work  harder  than 
I  had  ever  done,  and  John  stayed  late  at  the  store,  and 
always  looked  tired  and  worried.  When  the  time 
came  for  the  third  payment,  we  found  that  we  had 
not  been  able  to  save  any  thing  from  the  profits  of 
the  store,  and  my  husband  must  borrow  the  amount 
from  a  friend.  I  noticed  that  our  Spring  stock  of 
goods  was  not  as  large  as  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  having  ;  and,  to  my  question  as  to  why,  he  merely 
said  he  could  not  command  the  means  at  present.  I 
did  not  know  then,  as  I  afterward  learned,  that  the 
stock  on  hand  had  been  purchased  on  time;  but  I 
'could  see  that  something  was  wrong.  My  husband 
looked  troubled  and  worried  ;  and  sometimes  I  felt 
that,  perhaps,  it  was  the  debt  that  troubled  him,  but 
shook  off  the  idea  as  a  mere  fancy,  and  said  to  my- 


144          STORIES  OF  ^OME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

self:  'It's  all  nonsense;  John  is  just  working  too 
hard,  and  that  makes  him  look  worried  and  tired.' 
But  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  year  he  told  me  we  must 
lessen  our  expenses  in  some  way,  or  he  would  not  be 
able  to  meet  his  liabilities. 

"'But  how  are  we  to  do  it?'  I  asked.  '  Our 
children  must  dress  as  other  children  do.' 

"  '  Well,  I  do  n't  know  about  that.  I  shall  leave 
it  to  you,  Nellie  ;  but  you  must  manage  to  lessen  our 
expenses,  unless  you  wish  to  do  worse,'  my  husband 
replied,  despondently. 

"  His  look  and  tone  frightened  me,  and  I  set  to 
planning  how  I  might  save  a  little,  at  least.  I  dis- 
missed my  nurse,  and  took  charge  of  my  children 
myself.  Then  I  dismissed  my  cook,  and,  with  the 
help  of'my  remaining  girl,  who  was  very  inefficient, 
I  tried  to  get  along  and  retrench  a  little.  But  it  was 
no  use.  For  two  years  we  fought  the  battle,  with 
failures,  and  were  defeated.  Our  debts  had  accumu- 
lated to  such  an  extent  that  all  our  efforts  to  extricate 
ourselves  proved  unavailing.  The  times  were  hard, 
and  those  who  had  purchased  goods  of  us  on  time 
could  not  pay,  and  we  feared  at  last  that  we  must  sell 
off  our  stock  of  goods  and  our  home  to  meet  the  de- 
mand of  our  creditors.  Our  beautiful  home  was  sold 
under  the  auctioneer's  hammer  for  the  third  of  what 
it  cost  us.  By  selling  every  thing  we  could  pos- 
sibly spare.^  my  husband  was  enabled  to  pay  all  his 
debts  in  full,  and  his  good  name  was  safe,  which  was 
some  comfort.  It  was  very  humiliating  for  my  hus- 
band to  be  compelled  to  ask  for  a  position  as  sales- 
man of  men  with  whom  he  had  formerly  competed  in 


LIVING  WITHIN  ONE'S  MEANS.  145 

business  ;  and,  though  he  easily  obtained  a  situation, 
yet  it  was  not  pleasant  to  stay  where  we  would  meet 
those  who  had  been  our  Summer  friends,  and  who 
either  turned  a  cold  shoulder  to  us,  or,  what  was  a 
great  deal  harder  to  bear,  pitied  us,  and  so  we  came 
here ;  and,  though  our  salary  is  not  large,  we  are 
living  within  our  income,  and  hope  to  save  a  little  to 
purchase  a  home  by  and  by — not  a  house  for  show, 
but  for  shelter  and  comfort."  As  Mrs.  Hubbard 
finished  her  recital,  Mrs.  Miller's  tears  were  flowing 
in  sympathy  with  her  friend's  troubles.  After  a  few 
morfterits'  silence,  Mrs.  Hubbard  said,  timidly: 

"  I  never  thought  to  tell  this  to  any  one  here; 
but  during  our  acquaintance  you  have  grown  very 
dear  to  us,  and  I  could  not  see  you  taking  the  step 
that  almost  beggared  us  without  a  word  of  warning. 
If  the  house  were  the  only  expense,  you  might,  per- 
haps, venture  safely;  but,  my  dear  Mrs.  Miller,  it  is 
only  the  beginning  of  expense,  and  every  new  one 
only  paves  the  way  for  another.  My  new  house  re- 
quired new  furniture,  and  a  great  deal  of  it ;  my  new 
furniture  required  us  to  dress  in  style  to  correspond 
with  our  surroundings;  the  extra  dress  required  extra 
expense  in  making  and  caring  for ;  my  large  house 
compelled  me  to  hire  more  help  ;  and  so  one  expense 
brought  another,  until  we  were  brought  to  financial 
ruin." 

"  But  one  dislikes  to  live  shabbier  than  one's 
neighbors,"  objected  Mrs.  Miller,  faintly. 

"You  live  a  great  deal  better  than  some  of  your 
neighbors;  and  I  am  sure. that  those  of  your  friends 
who  are  worthy  of  the  name  love  and  respect  you  as 
13 


146  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

much  in  your  little  home  as  they  would  if  you  lived  in 
a  palace." 

Mrs.  Miller  sighed.  "  Well,  perhaps,  I  have  been 
foolish.  I  think,  for  the  present,  I  will  say  no  more 
about  it." 

Her  friend  smiled  pleasantly.  "Yes,  I  think  I 
would  say  just  a  little  more.  I  would  tell  him,  if  I 
were  you,  that  I  had  concluded  that  I  did  not  need 
a  new  house — for  a  while,  at  least" 

' '  Well,  I  guess  I  will,  then ;  and  I  do  n't  wonder 
your  husband  listened  to  your  persuasions ;  for  you 
have  a  faculty  for  making  people  think  your  way  the 
right  one." 

4 '  I  hope  my  '  persuasions, '  as  you  call  them,  will 
not  cause  you  as  much  trouble  as  they  did  us,"  Mrs. 
Hubbard  answered,  as  she  put  on  her  hat  and  shawl 
to  go  home. 

Mrs.  Miller  followed  her  friend's  advice ;  and 
when  her  husband,  five  years  later,  was  able  to  build 
a  large  house  and  furnish  it  nicely,  without  incurring 
debt,  she  felt  that  she  had  been  repaid  for  her  waiting. 


THE 


AUNTIE,"  exclaimed  Ella  Lewis,  one 
evening  as  she  came  in  on  her  way  from 
school,  "Miss  Harrison  is  getting  up  a  Cold 
ta  Water  Band,  and  Ida  Moore  wanted  brother 
Will  and  me  to  join  it.  I  told  her  I  thought 
'temperance  societies  were  for  those  who  were 
drunkards  or  getting  to  be,  and  may  be  for 
men  who  have  to  go  sometimes  where  people 
drink ;  but  I  think  it 's  silly  for  girls  to  join  Cold 
J  Water  Bands;  don't  you  think  so,  auntie?" 
Y  "What  did  your  brother  say  about  it?" 

asked    Mrs.    Meyer,   without   answering   Ella's 
question. 

"He  was  half  a  mind  to  give  his  name;  but  I 
laughed  at  the  idea,  and  he  said  'he  guessed  he 
wasn't  in  any  danger  yet;'  and  I  say  so  too,"  replied 
Ella,  with  emphasis. 

Mrs.  Meyer  sat  thinking  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  said,  "Ella,  dear,  come  sit  here  by  me,  and  I 
will  tell  you  a  little  story.  It  is  not  a  very  pleasant 
one,  and  I  do  not  often  speak  of  it,  but  it  may  do 
you  good  to  see  what  a  mistake  I  made  once.  My 
Either  and  mother  died  when  I  was  only  twelve  years 
old,  and  my  brother  Harry  was  about  two  years 
younger,  and  we  were  left  in  the  care  of  an  uncle. 
In  those  days  it  was  nothing  unusual  for  people  to 


148  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

take  their  morning  dram,  and  there  were  no  temper- 
ance societies  for  little  children ;  but  when  I  was 
about  sixteen  years  of  age  there  was  a  temperance 
society  organized  in  our  village,  and  we  were  urged 
to  join  it.  I  laughed  at  the  idea,  and  uncle  did  not 
persuade  us.  'Let  every  one  do  as  he  likes,'  was 
his  motto.  Brother  Harry  was  anxious  to  join  the 
society,  but  I  ridiculed  the  suggestion,  and  hinted 
that  perhaps  he  was  afraid  to  trust  himself  without 
a  pledge ;  and  as  he  was.  accustomed  to  look  up  to 
me  for  counsel,  and  not  caring  to  belong  to  a 
society  if  I  would  not  go  with  him,  he  said  no  more 
about  it. 

"Time  passed  on,  and  Harry  was  eighteen,  and  I 
twenty  years  of  age.  I  noticed  that  my  brother 
always  took  his  morning  bitters  with  uncle,  and  one 
morning  when  uncle  was  away  from  home  I  saw 
Harry  go  to  the  cupboard  and  take  a  glass  of  liquor. 
I  could  scarcely  have  told  why,  but  what  I  had  seen 
gave  me  a  strong  feeling  of  anxiety,  and  I  won- 
dered if  he  was  in  the  habit  of  drinking  when  uncle 
was  gone,  but  I  could  not  summon  courage  to  speak 
about  it.  A  few  weeks  afterwards  I  overheard  uncle 
telling  aunt  that  he  feared  Harry  was  keeping  unsuit- 
able company,  and  was  getting  into  bad  habits.  I 
longed  to  ask  what  he  meant,  but  was  too  proud  to 
let  him  know  that  I  shared  their  anxiety,  though  it 
caused  me  many  a  sleepless  night.  One  evening, 
about  three  months  afterward,  I  heard  a  confused 
murmur  of  voices  in  the  hall,  and  stepping  to  the 
door  of  my  room  I  saw  my  uncle  and  a  stranger 
supporting  my  brother  between  them.  I  started 


SIGNING  THE  PLEDGE.  149 

forward  with  a  cry  of  alarm,  but  uncle  motioned  me 
away,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  shock  with  which 
my  brother's  silly,  maudlin  words  fell  on  my  ears  as 
he  staggered  to  his  room,  nor  the  disgust  which  I  felt 
as  I  looked  upon  his  face  and  blood-shot  eyes.  I 
knew  too  well  their  meaning.  '  Harry  was  drunk!  my 
brother,  and  with  a  cry  of  shame  and  mortified 
pride  I  rushed  back  to  my  room  to  sob  out  my 
grief  alone.  The  next  morning  I  tried  to  remon- 
strate with  Harry  and  to  get  him  to  promise  never 
to  touch  the  poison  again.  O,  how  his  reply  startled 
and  stung  me:  'Now,  Nell,  see  here,  I  wanted  to  sign 
the  pledge  once,  and  I  might  have  been  a  sober  boy 
to  day  if  you  had  n't  made  fun  of  me  and  wanted  to 
know  if  I  needed  a  temperance  society  to  keep  me 
from  being  a  drunkard.  You  would  n't  sign  it  your- 
self, and  you  hindered  me;  now  you  can  take  the 
consequence,'  and  there  was  a  reckless  bravado  in 
face  and  tone.  'Last  night  wasn't  the  beginning, 
only  those  fellows  were  such  fools  as  to  bring  me 
home  instead  of  keeping  me  out  until  /  was  sober 
or  you  asleep. ' 

' '  It  was  no  use  to  plead.  I  had  lost  my  influ- 
ence over  my  brother.  He  already  craved  the  alco- 
holic poison,  and  he  seemed  to  take  a  sort  of  pleasure 
in  telling  me  it  was  my  own  fault  whenever  I  tried 
to  persuade  him  to  give  it  up.  At  twenty-five  he 
was  killed  in  a  drunken  row,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
killed  him,"  and  Mrs.  Meyer  stopped,  overcome  by 
her  emotions. 

' '  He  ought  to  have  been  man  enough  to  have 
governed  his  appetite,  and  not  to  have  been  led  by 


150  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

others,"  said  Ella,  wiping  away  her  tears  which 
flowed  at  her  aunt's  recital. 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  he  ought;  but  I  was  the  oldest, 
and  he  looked  up  to  me  in  many  things,  and  I  might 
have  prevented  his  acquiring  a  taste  for  stimulants  if 
I  had  only  been  wise  enough  to  use  my  influence 
right.  If  I  could  have  saved  him  after  I  saw  the 
danger  I  would  have  given  my  right  hand,  but  it  was 
too  late  then.  No,  Ella,  it  isn't  silly  for  girls  and 
boys  to  sign  a  temperance  pledge,  and  I  advise  you 
to  not  only  give  your  name  to  the  society,  but  to 
urge  your  brother  to  do  so.  You  may  not  be  in 
danger,  but  your  brother  is ;  and  if  you  influence  him 
to  take  a  pledge  to  total  abstinence  before  he  learns 
to  drink  you  will  save- him  from  ruin,  and  you  will 
not  have  the  cause  for  sorrow  and  regret  that  I  have 
to-day.  It  seems  like  opening  the  wound  afresh  to 
talk  of.it,  but  I  could  not  bear  to  see  you  falling 
into  the  same  error  without  giving  you  my  own  sad 
experience  as  a  warning  to  you." 

Ella  kissed  her  aunt's  forehead  tenderly  as  she 
rose-  to  go  home.  "  I  thank  you  very  much  for  tell- 
ing me  this  story,  auntie;  I  am  sure  Will  would  not 
sign  the  pledge  if  I  didn't,  and  it  all  looks  so  dif- 
ferent to  me  now." 

A  word  from  his  sister  was  all  that  Will  Lewis 
needed,  and  together  the  brother  and  sister  signed 
the  pledge  that  evening,  but  Ella  did  not  tell  Mrs. 
Meyer's  sad  experience. 


]V[ AGGIE'S  MRIALS. 


was  a  very  weary  pair  of  feet  that  car- 
ried Maggie  Barr's  body  up  the  hill 
to  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Tate,  her  moth- 
er's rich  neighbor.  But  the  errand  must  be 
*y  done,  and  there  was  no  one  else  home  could  do 
it  but  Maggie,  as  brother  Dan  was  at  work  for 
a  neighboring  farmer,  and  all  the  other  chil- 
dren (and  there  were  five  of  them)  were  younger 
than  Maggie;  and  so  this  errand,  as  well  as  a 
jL  good  many  other  things,  seemed  to  fall,  as  a 
T  matter  of  course,  upon  this  elder  sister.  To  be 
*"  sure,  ten-year-old  Harry  might  have  done  a 
good  many  errands;  but  his  eyes  and  ears  were 
always  on  the  alert  to  see  and  hear  all  the  fun  there 
was  going,  and  he  did  n't  always  remember  to  de- 
liver his  messages  correctly,  nor  hurry  as  fast  as  he 
ought  on  the  way ;  and  so  the  important  messages  and 
errands — and  Maggie  thought  they  were  very  many — 
were  intrusted  to  "sister  Maggie."  Besides  all  these, 
there  was  baby  to  watch  and  to  amuse,  at  the  same 
time  keeping  an  oversight  of  two-year-old  Ned,  who 
would  keep  poking  his  fingers  into  baby's  blue  eyes 
•and  pink  ears,  in  his  efforts  to  explore  their  mysteri- 
ous depths.  Then,  there  was  the  table  to  set  three 
times  a  day,  and  dishes  to  wash. 

Maggie  was  only  twelve  years  old,  and  sometimes 


152  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

these  numerous  and  mixed  duties  were  not  particu- 
larly inviting;  but  she  was  not  often  cross,  neither 
was  she  always  good-natured,  over  them  ;  and  now, 
after  an  unusually  busy  day,  a  message  must  be 
carried  to  their  neighbor  in  regard  to  some  sewing 
which  Maggie's  mother  was  doing  for  Mrs.  Tate. 

"Don't  stay  long,  dear,"  cautioned  Mrs.  Barr; 
"for  baby  will  want  you  while  I  strain  the  milk  and 
put  it  away." 

As  the  child  climbed  the  hill,  each  step  grew 
more  and  more  wearisome ;  and  when  at  last  she 
knocked  at  the  door,  she  felt  as  if  she  could  never 
climb  another  hill  without  a  new  pair  of  feet,  her 
own  were  so  tired. 

The  message  was  soon  delivered,  and  the  mes- 
senger on  her  way  home  ;  but  the  feet  did  not  move 
very  rapidly,  even  though  going  down  hill;  for  were 
they  not  going  to  other  duties  instead  of  rest? 

"  O  dear !  I  wonder  if  I  shall  always  be  busy, 
busy!"  queried  Maggie,  with  a  sigh,  as  she  thought 
of  the  weary  steps  she  must  take  with  baby,  whose 
"fretful  hour"  was  sure  to  be  when  mamma  was 
busiest.  "  I  do  wish  I  could  have  time  to  read  pretty 
stories  and  have  a  good  time,  like  other  girls.  Susie 
Tate's  mamma  keeps  a  nurse-girl ;  and  O,  it  must 
be  so  nice  to  do  as  you  please,  and  not  be  both- 
ered about  any  tiling  /"  And  as  Maggie  contrasted 
Susie's  "good  times"  with  her  own  rather  homely 
duties,  she  felt,  as  many  a  one  of  maturer  years  has 
felt  when  weary  and  overworked,  that,  in  some  way, 
things  were  not  exactly  evenly  adjusted.  The  more 
she  thought  it  over,  the  more  weary  grew  her  feet, 


MAGGIE'S  TRIALS.  153 

and  there  came  a  lump  in  her  throat  that  grew  bigger, 
until,  by  the  time  she  reached  home,  she  felt  as  if  it 
would  choke  her. 

The  mother  was  waiting  for  her  to  take  baby, 
who  seemed  more  than  usually  restless.  At  any  other 
time  Maggie  would  have  held  out  her  arms  gladly  to 
receive  the  little  one  ;  for  she  was  proud  of  and  loved 
this  rosy-cheeked  baby  sister  very  much ;  but  just 
now  she  was  thinking  of  what  a  nice  time  Susie  Tate 
was  having,  and  how  she  "never  could  have  a  min- 
ute to.  herself,"  and  the  face  that  looked  into  baby's 
was  not  very  encouraging;  but  she  reached  out  her 
hands  mechanically,  and,  without  replying  to  her 
mother's  comment  upon  her  lengthy  stay,  she  carried 
baby  into  the  sitting-room.  Maggie's  dissatisfied 
feelings  seemed  to  communicate  themselves  to  baby, 
and  she  had  no  power  to  soothe  to  rest  the  little  one, 
who  usually  ' '  was  better  with  sister  Maggie  than 
with  any  one  else,"  as  she  had  boasted  more  than  a 
score  of  times.  To-night  all  her  efforts  were  of  no 
avail.  Baby  would  not  sleep,  and  its  fretful  whimper 
culminated  in  a  vigorous  cry  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Barr's 
task  was  completed,  she  found  both  children  in  tears ; 
for  Maggie's  grieved  feelings  had  gotten  the  mastery, 
and  she  was  weeping  just  as  earnestly,  although  in 
silence. 

After  a  few  moments  of  motherly  soothing,  baby 
was  sleeping  peacefully  in  its  crib,  and  Mrs.  Barr 
turned  her  attention  to  Maggie,  who  had  thrown  her- 
self on  the  lounge,  and  was  crying  quietly  to  herself. 
Seating  herself  on  the  lounge,  she  lifted  Maggie's 
head,  and  laid  it  on  her  lap.  Stroking  the  short 


154  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

curls  tenderly,  she  said,  softly,  "What  has  happened 
that  my  little  girl  is  crying  like  this?"  The  tender 
tone,  the  caressing  hand,  was  just  the  one  thing  that 
could  touch  Maggie's  heart,  and  in  her  present  mood 
it  touched  the  fountain  of  her  tears,  and,  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands,  she  sobbed  harder  than 
ever.  Mrs.  Barr  was  puzzled.  This  was  a  new  freak 
of  her  daughter's,  and  she  could  not  comprehend  its 
cause  or  guess  its  meaning. 

After  two  or  three  ineffectual  efforts  to  quiet  her 
or  learn  the  cause  of  her  tears,  she  waited  in  silence 
till  this  outburst  should  have  spent  itself.  When  her 
sobs  had  ceased,  the  mother  said : 

"Will  you  not  tell  me  your  trouble,   Maggie?" 

' '  O  mother,  I  am  so  tired  of  work,  work  all  the 
time !  I  have  to  hurry  in  the  morning,  and  all  day ; 
I  am  busy  always,  except  when  in  school.  I  scarcely 
get  to  look  at  a  book  ;  and  baby  must  be  cared  for, 
and  dishes  must  be  washed,  and  nobody  cares  how 
tired  I  get;  and  I  do  n't  have  nice  things  nor  nice 
times,  and  it 's  just  awful  to  be  '  sister  Maggie '  to  so 
many.  I  wish  I  was  in  baby's  place  instead  of  hav- 
ing to  work  all  the  time.  Susie  Tate's  mother  keeps 
a  nurse  girl,  and  Susie  can  do  just  as  she  pleases; 
and — I  am  so  tired  of  it  all."  And  Maggie's  words 
ended  in  another  sob. 

"But,  Maggie,  dear,  Mrs.  Tate  has  plenty  of 
money,  and  we  have  not.  Your  father  has  only 
this  little  farm,  and  we  can  not  afford  so  many  luxu- 
ries as  they.  Besides,  I  would  rather  trust  baby  and 
Ned  to  their  sister  than  to  a  hired  nurse,  but  I  did 
not  know  I  was  burdening  you.  I  do  not  want 


MAGGIE'S  TRIALS.  155 

my  daughter  to  grow  tired  of  her  home  and  her 
brothers  and  sisters,"  and  Mrs.  Barr's  voice  had  a 
suspicious  tremor  in  it  that  made  Maggie  look  up 
with  an  inquiring  glance.  "'I  will  try  to  give  you 
more  time  to  yourself,  but  when  you  are  out  of  school 
I  need  your  help,  and  I  have  come  to  look  for  it,  I 
guess.  The  money  Mrs.  Tate  pays  me  for  sewing  is 
to  buy  you  some  of  the  nice  things  you  say  you 
never  have,  and  I  trust  some  of  the  steps  you  take 
are  for  your  comfort  as  well  as  for  others." 

J^But  mamma,  I  heard  papa  s.ay,  if  you  would  do 
that  work,  it  must  be  used  on  yourself,  and  I  am 
sure  you  like  nice  things  as  much  as  I  do." 

' '  I  can  do  nicely  without  a  new  dress  for  the 
Winter.  My  last  Winter's  dresses  are  respectable 
and  very  comfortable." 

"But,  mother,  don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  this 
humdrum  work?  Don't  you  wish  you  could  rest 
and  have  nice  times,  like  other  people?" 

"There  are  other  people  who  don't  have  even 
such  nice  times  as  I  have,  my  dear  child." 

"  I  don't  mean  that  kind  of  other  people,  mother; 
but  do  n't  you  wish  you  could  ride  in  a  carriage,  and 
have  beautiful  clothes,  and  a  grand  house,  and  lots 
of  things?" 

"  I  am  glad  I  have  my  children  well  and  strong, 
and  that  your  father  is  a  sober,  Christian  man. 
Would  you  be  willing  to  exchange  your  father  for 
Mr.  Tate,  Maggie?" 

"O  no,  not  for  the  world!  Why,  John  M'Don- 
ald,  their  gardener,  says  Mr%  Tate  comes  home  real 
drunk  sometimes,  and  I  would  rather  be  poor  than 


156  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

have  papa  like  that ;  but,  mamma,  it  seems  as  if  we 
ought  to  have  some  of  the  nice  times  and  nice 
things,  instead  of  some  one  else  having  them  all." 

"My  daughter  had  better  not  puzzle  her  brain 
over  questions  that  wiser  heads  have  failed  to  solve. 
And  now  if  you  will  go  to  bed  and  sleep,  I  think 
things  will  have  a  brighter 'look  in  the  morning  than 
they  have  now."  And  with  a  loving  good-night  kiss 
Mrs.  Barr  sent  Maggie  to  her  bed. 

Maggie's  heart  was  considerably  lighter,  but  the 
visions  her  waking  hours  had  conjured  up  still  lin- 
gered with  her,  and  as  she  fell  asleep  there  floated 
before  her  beautiful  children  and  gayly  dressed  ladies 
in  carriages  of  such  magnificence  as  her  childish 
fancy  had  loved  to  picture  for  herself  and  her  parents 
and  the  children. 

-Things  did  look  brighter  in  the  morning,  and 
Maggie  tried  to  make  amends  for  her  fretfulness  of 
the  previous  evening.  She  watched  her  mother  as 
she  went  to  and  fro  about  the  duties  and  cares  of  the 
house,  and  she  could  but  notice  the  patience  with 
which  she  looked  after  all  the  little  details  of  her 
home.  "I  know  mamma  is  tired,  and  yet  she  is  so 
patient  with  it  all.  I  wonder  if  she  is  ashamed  of 
me  for  my  crossness.  I  wonder  if  I  will  ever  be  so 
cross  again.  Yes,  I  expect  so ;  but  I  won  't  let 
mother  know — even  if  I  get  so  cross  I  must  bite  my 
fingers  off,  so  there  now!"  and  Maggie  set  her  teeth 
together  with  a  decision  that  meant  a  victory  over 
self,  if  possible. 

When  the  day's  work  was  done  and  the  little  ones 
all  asleep,  Maggie  drew  her  chair  beside  her  mother's 


MAGGIE'S  TRIALS.  157 

and  laid  her  head  on  her  knee.  After  a  few  mo, 
ments  of  silence,  she  said : 

"Mamma,  I 've  been  thinking  it  all  out  to-day, 
and  would  rather  be  Maggie  Earr  than  any  body 
else,  even  if  we  ain't  rich,  and  have  no  servants. 
And  I  Ve  watched  you  all  day,  and  I  'm  sorry  I  was 
cross  yesterday,  when  I  knew  you  had  worked  so 
hard  all  day  long ;  and  then,  mamma,  you  sat  up  to 
sew  for  Mrs.  Tate  last  night — O,  I  know  you  did,  for 
the  ruffles  that  were  not  hemmed  last  night  were  all 
finished  this  morning,  and  there  is  no  fairy  about  this 
hou&e  unless  it  is  you." 

"  Well,  you  are  content  to  live  just  our  humdrum 
life,  as  you  called  it,  are  you?"  questioned  Mrs.  Barr. 
.  ' '  Yes ;  but  mother,  I  '11  never  ask  you  to  over- 
work yourself  for  me — not  if  I  never  have  a  nice 
dress  or  hat  as  long  as  I  live,  you  dear  mother,"  and 
Maggie  kissed  the  hand  she  had  imprisoned  as  if  she 
meant  to  keep  it. 

' '  I  am  glad  you  are  looking  at  things  more 
cheerfully,  and  I  know  your  work  will  seem  lighter, 
and  I  shall  not  feel  mine  nearly  so  heavy  if  my 
daughter  is  content.  You  are  but  a  child,  Maggie, 
but  I  have  come  to  look  to  you  for  so  many  things 
that  I  am  afraid  my  work  would  be  very  heavy  with- 
out your  help,  and  especially  if  I  thought  you  were 
dissatisfied  with  your  home.  Your  father  can  not 
give  you  many  accomplishments,  but  he  can  give 
you  a  good,  substantial  education  if  .his  life  and 
health  is  spared.  There  are  a  good  many  burdens 
that  will  fall  upon  you  as  my  eldest  daughter,  but  I 
trust  you  will  be  repaid  in  the  abundant  opportuni- 


158  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

ties  you  may  have  for  helping  your  younger  brothers 
and  sisters  in  their  efforts  to  be  good  and  true  men 
and  women.  You  are  very  dear  to  me,  dearer  than 
you  can  now  understand,  and  I  have  looked  forward 
to  the  time  when  I  could  lean  on  you  for  support 
and  take  you  into  my  cabinet  as  chief  counselor. 
Perhaps  I  am  selfish,  but  I  want  to  do  that  which 
will  be  the  best  for  all  my  children." 

' '  You  can  never  be  selfish,  I  am  sure,  and  I  am 
sorry  I  made  you  unhappy  last  night.  I  '11  do  my 
best,  see  if  I  don't;  and  if  I  get  cross  at  any  time 
just  give  me  a  hint,  and  I  '11  straighten  out  the 
wrinkles  double  quick,"  and  Maggie  laughed  even 
\vhile  she  brushed  away  the  tears.  As  she  said 
good-night  she  stole  an  arm  about  her  mother's  neck 
and  whispered,  "I  shan't  mind  being  tired  now 
since  I  know  you  understand  and  care  about  it." 


0HRISTMAS  IN  ILLINOIS  IN  1846. 


ERHAPS  some  of  my  readers  would  like 
to  know  something  about  how  little  chil- 
dren  spent  their  Christmas  in  what  was 
called  the  "West,"  thirty  years  ago. 
5        The  school  I  am  going  to  tell  you  of  was 
not  in  a  village,  but  in  the  edge  of  the  woods 
in  one  of  the  eastern  counties  of  Illinois. 

We  didn't  have  "vacation"  then,  as  you 
do  now,  but  sometimes  the  "schoolmaster" — 
that  is  what  we  called  our  teacher — would  give 
us  a  treat  of  some  kind. 

Some  three  or  four  weeks  before  Christmas, 
the  scholars  would  gather  in  groups  at  dinner-time 
and  talk  over  the  prospect  for  a  good  time  at  Christ- 
mas. Some  of  the  larger  boys  would  be  appointed 
to  interview  the  teacher,  and  find  out,  if  possible, 
whether  he  was  going  to  "treat"  or  not.  Sometimes 
the  master  "did  n't  know,"  and  then  there  would  be 
guessing  and  planning  about  the  prospect  in  view. 

Sometimes  some  of  the  larger  and  ruder  boys 
would  suggest  the  idea  of  "locking  him  out"  until 
he  should  come  to  terms ;  and  sometimes  the  sug- 
gestion was  carried  into  effect,  so  far  as  the  locking 
out  was  concerned,  but  the  means  employed  did  not 
always  bring  the  "master"  to  terms. 

On  this  particular  occasion,  however,  the  master 


160  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

was  disposed  to  be  accommodating,  and  the  scholars, 
big  and  little,  were  all  on  tiptoe  with  expectation, 
and  in  our  noonday  caucuses  we  all  voted  that  the 
master  was  splendid.  I  guess  we  did  n't  use  that 
word,  exactly;  but  we  meant  the  same  thing,  that 
you  mean  when  you  say  splendid,  or  when  you  call 
your  teacher  or  a  playmate  a  "brick." 

The  day  before  Christmas  was  a  busy  one  for  the 
schoolmaster's  wife  and  daughters,  in  getting  the 
"treat"  ready.  On  Christmas  morning,  the  master 
came  in  sight,  followed  by  his  two  oldest  boys,  lads 
of  about  sixteen  and  fourteen  years  of  age,  each 
laden  with  a  basket,  holding  almost  a  bushel  and 
closely  covered. 

The  boys  and  girls  all  gathered  at  the  door,  hop- 
ing to  get  a  peep,  or  at  least  a  smell,  of  the  "good- 
ies," but  a  wave  of  the  teacher's  hand  made  them 
fall  back  a  little,  and  the  mysterious  baskets,  with 
their  precious  loads,  were  soon  deposited  in  the  box- 
like  pulpit — for  the  school-house  was  made  to  answer 
the  purpose  of  a  church  on  Sundays.  Then  the 
master  went  to  the  door  and  "rapped"  on  it  with 
his  "ruler,"  to  let  us  know  that  it  was  school  time. 

When  we  were  all  seated  on  the  long  wooden, 
backless  benches,  the  schoolmaster  adjusted  his  spec- 
.tacles  very  carefully — he  looked  very  much  like  the 
pictures  we  see  nowadays  of  the  old  time  school- 
master— then  he  pushed  them  up  on  his  forehead, 
and  looked  about  the  room.  After  a  little  pause, 
he  announced  to  the  school  that,  "as  today  is 
Chmtmas,  we  will  not  study  our  usual  lessons ;  but, 
if  the  school  wishes,  we  will  have  spelling- school." 


CHRISTMAS  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO.  161 

Of  course,  the  school  "wished"  it,  and  a  big  boy 
and  girl  were  appointed  by  the  master  to  ' '  choose 
up."  I  suppose  my  readers  attended  some  of  the 
many  spelling-schools  which  were  held  over  the 
country  last  Winter,  so  I  need  not  tell  you  about 
this  one.  We  had  no  recess  in  those  days,  and  our 
school  commenced  at  eight  o'clock,  instead  of  nine, 
as  it  does  now;  but  the  morning  hours  soon  passed 
away,  and  noon  came,  and  then  each  family  of  chil- 
dren sat  down  to  their  cold  dinner  with  good  appe- 
tites^and  tempers,  too,  for  that  matter. 

At  one  o'clock,  the  master's  ruler  called  us  to 
order  again,  and  that  reminds  me  that  I  have  forgot- 
ten to  tell  you  what  a  nice  time  we  had,  and  what 
merry  games  we  played,  but  that  must  go  now,  or 
my  letter  will  be  too  long. 

When  we  were  all  quiet — and  we  got  quiet  sooner 
than  usual  on  that  day — two  boys  and  two  girls,  the 
steadiest  and  best-behaved  in  the  school,  were  se- 
lected to  "pass"  the  —  not  candies  and  nuts,  but  — 
cakes,  pies  (mince,  apple  and  pumpkin),  and  dough- 
nuts. The  doughnuts  were  cut  in  all  sorts  of  fanci- 
ful shapes,  and  some  were  cut  with  thimbles,  and 
when  fried  were  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  filbert, 
and  were  called  "kisses"  by  the  little  ones.  Wasn't 
there  grand  fun  when  the  "kisses"  were  distributed! 
and  did  n't  the  schoolmaster  and  all  make  the  old 
school  house  ring  with  merry  laughter,  when  a  little 
fat-faced,  curly-haired  girl,  her  eyes  swimming  in 
tears,  called  out: 

' '  Please,  master,  George  Castle  has  taken  all  my 
kisses!  won't  you  make  him  give  'em  back?" 
14 


1 62  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

When  the  pies  and  cakes — don't  read  it  "pizen 
cakes,"  as  I  have  heard  children  say  it  —  were  all 
disposed  of,  then  the  master  brought  out  a  liberal 
supply  of  rosy-cheeked  apples.  What  fun  we  had 
in  tossing  them  back  and  forth !  and  how  the  big 
boys  and  girls  pared  theirs  carefully,  and  then  swung 
the  paring  round  their  heads  and  cast  it  on  the  floor, 
to  see  what  letter  it  would  form !  and  how  delighted 
they  were  when  the  paring  formed  the  initial  letter  of 
the  name  of  some  special  favorite  or  sweetheart ! 

At  about  half-past  three,  we  were  again  ' '  called  to 
order,"  and  the  "big  spelling  class "  took  its  place, 
and  the  lesson  assigned  on  the  previous  day  was 
spelled,  and  the  school  was  dismissed. 

The  tired,  but  happy,  children  put  on  their  wraps, 
and,  taking  their  empty  dinner-baskets  on  their  arms, 
were  soon  on  their  way  home,  laughing  and  shouting, 
as  they  threw  their  snow-balls  back  and  forth  in 
merry  glee. 

All  this  was  thirty  years  ago,  and  "the  master 
sleeps  upon  the  hill,"  and  many  of  his  pupils  rest  in 
the  same  graveyard ;  but  on  this  Christmas  the  boys 
and  girls  who  read  this  will  have  as  merry  a  time  as 
we  had  then,  no  doubt,  though  in  a  different  way. 


EAR  me,  I  wonder  if  there  really  is  any 
sense   in   it   any  way!"  and    little   Mrs. 
Webb  sat  down  and  began  working  hur- 
l\    riedly  on  the  button-hole  she  had  begun  before 

called  to  the  parlor  to  receive  a  caller. 
"Why,  what's  the  matter  now?  Do  you 
consider  buttons  and  button-holes  a  nuisance, 
and  propose  to  dispense  with  them  in  the 
future?"  asked  her  sister  as  she  looked  up 
from  her  book,  as  she  sat  by  the  sitting-room 
window. 

"Now,   Nellie,   don't   tease;    you   know  I 
am  not  so  silly  as  that." 

"Well,  what  is  it  then?  something  serious,  I 
know  by  your  looks." 

"As  you  are  a  young  lady  with  but  few  cares 
and  responsibilities  resting  upon  you,  perhaps  you 
may  not  think  so ;  but  with  me  it  is  a  serious  matter, 
and  I  really  wish —  " 

"Now,  sister,  I  object  to  your  making  a  speech 
until  there  is  a  motion  before  the  house.  Before  you 
present  your  arguments  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  are  talking  about." 

"Very  well,  then,  here  it  is,"  and  Mrs.  Webb 
laughed  at  her  sister's  teasing.  "I  move  that  the 
rules  of  etiquette  be  so  far  modified  as  to  allow  a 


164  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

lady  to  use  her  hands  in  necessary  work  while  enter- 
taining callers." 

Nellie  laughed  gleefully.  "Well,  I  don't  know 
as  I  shall  agree  with  you,  but  for  the  sake  of  getting 
it  in  shape  I  second  the  motion." 

"And  now,  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Mrs.  Webb  to 
her  husband,  who  had  come  in  during  the  conversa- 
tion, "will  you  please  state  the  question?" 

' '  Certainly,  any  thing  to  oblige  you.  Let  me 
see;  how  is  it?  O,  yes;  Resolved,  That  Mrs.  Grundy 
be  asked  to  give  the  ladies  permission  to  work  and 
gossip  at  the  same  time.  Really,  ladies,  according 
to  my  ideas  of  woman's  work  and  talk,  that  will  be 
an  utter  impossibility." 

"If  you  please,  sir,  you  have  not  stated  the 
question  fairly ;  and  beside,  I  deny  your  right  to  pass 
judgment  at  this  stage  of  the  debate,"  objected  Mrs. 
Webb.  "But,  seriously,  what  is  the  use  of  my  sit- 
ting with  my  hands  folded  when  I  could  work  and 
talk  just  as  well?  For  instance,  this  afternoon  I  have 
had  five  calls,  which  altogether  have  taken  up  two 
hours  of  my  time  and  put  me  that  much  behind  with 
my  work.  I  was  very  glad  to  "see  each  one  who 
called  to-day,  but  Grade  and  Jennie  are  needing 
their  dresses  so  much  that  I  should  have  enjoyed 
their  company  a  great  deal  more  if  I  could  have 
been  working  these  button  holes  while  I  was  talking." 

"But,  sister,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  look 
rude,  and  as  if  you  were  in  a  hurry  for  them  to  go, 
if  you  were  to  keep  on  with  your  work  when  you 
had  company,"  said  Nellie. 

"I   don't   feel   so,    though    perhaps   others   may, 


GUI  BONO?  165 

and  that  is  just  where  I  want  the  reform  to  begin. 
Every  married  lady  knows,  or  ought  to  know,  that 
every  woman  who  has  a  family  to  look  after  has  need 
to  be  busy  nearly  all  the  time,  and  that  if  she  spends 
all  her  afternoons  in  the  parlor  with  idle  hands  that 
there  will  be  times  when  her  work  is  neglected." 

"Yes;  but,  wife,  you  owe  something  to  society  as 
well  as  to  your  family,"  suggested  Mr.  Webb. 

"I  know  it,  and  that  is  just  the  reason  I  want  a 
change  in  the  rules  of  etiquette.  Why  can  not  I  be 
just  .as  polite  and  entertaining  with  my  basting  or 
knitting  in  my  hands  as  without?  The  last  lady  who 
called  to-day  was  Mrs.  Clark,  and  I  was  really  glad 
to  see  her,  and  always  enjoy  her  calls  so  much  ;  but 
I '  was  hurried  and  forgot  to  take  my  thimble  off 
before  I  went  into  the  parlor,  and,  I  suppose,  she 
saw  it,  or  else  judged  from  my  looks  that  I  was  hur- 
ried with  my  work,  and  so  only  stayed  a  few  minutes. 
Now  if  fashion,  or  society,  or  whatever  you  may 
call  it,  would  have  allowed  me  to  take  my  work  into 
the  parlor  I  could  have  spent  an  hour  in  conversation 
very  profitably,  for  Mrs.  Clark  is  not  one  of  the  gos- 
siping ones ;  but  as  it  is,  I  feel  that  I  hurried  her 
away  and  lost  an  opportunity  for  social  enjoyment 
that  I  need  not  have  lost  if  it  had  not  been  for  this 
foolish  custom." 

"But,  Lucy,  the  rich,  who  are  able  to  hire  their 
work  done,  are  not  hurried  as  you  are ;  would  you 
have  them  take  their  work  into  the  parlor,  too  ?" 
asked  Nellie. 

"Yes;  and  it  because  they  are  rich  and  influen- 
tial that  I  would  have  them  do  it.  Of  course,  they 


1 66         STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

need  not  take  their  calico  and  gingham  there  unless 
they  wish,  but  almost  every  lady  has  some  light  bit 
of  needle  work  or  fancy  knitting  that  she  could  keep 
on  hand  to  pick  up  while  she  is  entertaining  callers, 
and  so  help  us  who  are  busier  and  less  influential." 

"But,  wife,  would  not  your  work  make  you  feel 
unsocial  and  hurried?" 

"Not  a  bit.  The  most  social  gatherings  we  have 
are  where  the  ladies  bring  their  work ;  do  n't  you 
know  how  you  laugh  about  our  sewing  circles?" 

"Yes,  and  if  you  propose  to  talk  about  your 
neighbors  after  the  manner  of  orthodox  sewing  soci- 
eties, I  shall  object,"  laughed  Mr.  Webb. 

"I  think,  my  dear,  you  are  making  too  many 
speeches  for  the  president  of  a  meeting.  I  have  no 
notion  of  making  my  parlor  a  place  for  idle  gossip ;  and, 
by  the  way,  I  think  our  sewing  societies  are  censured 
a  great  deal  more  than  they  deserve.  But  I  was 
going  to  say,  the  pleasantest  gatherings  we  have  are 
where  the  ladies  bring  their  work,  and  the  driest  one 
I  ever  attended  was  where  each  one  wore  her  best 
dress,  and  her  most  dignified  manners,  and  sat  idly 
talking  or  watching  her  neighbor." 

"Well,  sister,"  suggested  Nellie,  "you  have 
about  as  much  independence  as  any  one,  suppose 
you  '  start  the  fashion '  as  the  milliners  say,  and  take 
John's  socks  into  the  parlor  and  darn  them  while  you 
entertain  your  next  caller.  I  fancy  Mrs.  Grundy 
would  turn  up  her  aristocratic  nose  and  lift  her  hands 
in  disgust  if  you  were  to  dare  to  such  a  thing." 

"  I  presume  so  ;  but  it  is  not  necessary  that  John's 
socks  should  be  taken  to  the  parlor.  I  can  mend 


Cui  BONO?  167 

them  of  evenings  while  he  reads  to  me.  I  love  com- 
pany, and  enjoy  the  calls  of  my  friends  as  much  as 
any  one,  but  I  owe  a  duty  to  my  family  as  well  as 
to  others,  and  I  am  sure  there  is  plenty  of  work  that 
would  not  look  out  of  place  in  the  parlor,  and  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  begin  to  try  at  least,  to  inaugurate  a 
new  era  in  parlor  etiquette." 

"Well,  I  shall  want  time  to  think  about  it  before 
I  agree  to  vote  '  aye  '  on  this  very  important  ques- 
tion," said  Nellie;  "so  I  move  that  the  discussion  be 
contywed  at  our, next  meeting." 

"And  ladies,"  said  Mr.  Webb,  as  he  picked  up 
his  hat  and  turned  to  the  door,  "business  is  waiting, 
and  I  must  go;  but  I  hope,  if  you  undertake  this 
reform,  that  you  will  let  me  know  how  it  is  received 
by  your  fashionable  friends." 


|£O 


STER 

©r,  ail  Motfe  an&  no  $Ias. 

iUT,  mother,  I  arrr  tired  of  just  the  same 
kind  of  carpet  all  the  time.      I  will  have 
to    work    hard    for    five  or   six   weeks   to 
make  it,  and  then  it  will  be  nothing  but  a  rag 
carpet,  after  all.      Why  can  't  father  get  a  nice 
ingrain  for  the  front  room?" 

"  Your  father  is  saving  his  money  to  buy 
that  farm  of  Mr.  Johnson's.  He  thinks  he  gets 
it  very  cheap  ;  but  it  will  take  all  the  money  he 
can  raise  this  Fall  to  make  the  first  payment." 
"I  thought  father  had  enough  land  already. 
I  am  sure  it  isn  't  a  week  since  I  heard  him 
complaining  because  he  had  so  much  care  on  his 
mind.  I  wonder,"  a  little  bitterly,  "if  he  thinks 
another  farm,  with  another  debt  for  two  or  three 
years,  will  lighten  his  cares  any  !" 

"Ella,"  said  her  mother,  half  reprovingly,  half 
apologetically,  "your  father  is  working  hard  to  lay 
by  something  for  his  children,  and  you  ought  not  to 
speak  so.  It  will  be  very  nice  to  have  a  farm  of^ 
your  own  when  you  come  to  get  married." 

"  I  suppose  father  thinks  he  is  working  for  our 
good  ;  but  I  would  rather  have  a  part  of  the  money 
now  than  to  wait  until  I  am  married,  which  is  not 
likely  to  be  very  soon,  unless  some  of  the  work- 
hands  choose  to  fall  in  love  with  me,  and  take  me 


THE  FOSTER  FAMILY.  169 

off  your  hands;  and  that  is  not  likely  to  happen, 
as  they  always  see  me  in  the  worst  possible  plight. 
It  is  nothing  but  drudge,  drudge,  all  the  time ; 
kitchen  and  dairy,  washing  and  ironing,  sweeping 
and  making  beds,  making  and  mending,  without 
time  to  even  comb  my  hair  decently.  I  suppose, 
if  ever  I  do  marry,  it  will  be  to  some  one  who 
has  fallen  in  love  with  father's  acres  instead  of  his 
daughter.  O,  I  wish  I  could  have  something  nice 
and  pretty  just  once!"  and  Ella  Foster  closed  her 
lips  wi£h  a  very  decided  compression,  and  went  on 
vigorously  rubbing  the  coarse  linen  towel  that  she 
was  ironing  with  an  iron  which  had  grown  cold  while 
she  was  warming  up  with  her  subject. 

-Mrs.  Foster  sighed  as  she  turned  from  the  table, 
where  she  was  paring  a  basket  of  apples  for  the  Win- 
ter's mince-meat,  and  went  to  the  stove  and  put  in  an 
extra  stick  of  wood  before  she  replied  to  her  daugh- 
ter's complaint.  At  last  she  said,  in  a  weary,  dis- 
couraged tone  : 

"Well,  Ellen,  you  may  ask  your  father  for  the 
money,  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  useless.  I  am  sure 
I  wish  you  could  have  more  leisure  and  nicer  furni- 
ture ;  but  your  father  thinks  he  can  not  afford  to  hire 
a  girl,  and  he  says  the  furniture  is  good  enough." 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  the  carpet  at.  that 
time  ;  but  Ella  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  ask 
for  it  as  soon  as  she  found  a  favorable  opportunity. 

The  home  of  the  Fosters  was  very  much  like 
many  other  homes.  The  father  had  commenced  life 
as  a  poor  man,  and  had,  by  the  strictest  economy 
and  industry,  succeeded  in  purchasing  a  little  home 


170  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

and  paying  for  it.  But  the  habits  acquired  during 
those  years  were  not  easily  laid  aside,  and  as  his 
property  had  increased  so  had  his  desire  for  more ; 
and  his  wife,  who  in  their  early  married  life  had  de- 
nied herself  every  luxury,  and  worked  hard  day  and 
night,  almost,  to  save  money  to  pay  for  their  home, 
had  not  yet  come  to  the  time  when  she  felt  that  she 
could  sit  down  and  take  the  rest  she  really  needed. 
Her  husband  had  kept  adding  a  few  acres  to  his 
farm  every  two  or  three  years,  keeping  himself  just 
enough  in  debt  to  require  constant  saving  in  order  to 
meet  his  engagements.  He  had  seldom  hired  help 
for  his  wife,  though  she  had  often  needed  it  sadly ; 
but  knowing  her  husband's  desire  to  save,  she  had 
refrained  from  complaining,  and  as  Ella  grew  up  she 
was  obliged  to  call  on  her  for  help  here  and  there, 
until,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  the  daughter  had  be- 
come, like  her  mother,  a  constant  drudge. 

Ella  had  inherited  from  her  mother  a  strong  love 
for  the  beautiful,  which  amounted  almost  to  a  pas- 
sion— the  more  so,  apparently,  because  she  had  but 
little  opportunity  to  exercise  or  gratify  her  taste, 
which,  in  spite  of  its  crushing  back,  would  crop  out 
in  little,  tastefully  arranged  ornaments,  which  she 
contrived  for  her  own  room  when  the  rest  of  the 
family  were  asleep. 

Ella  was  the  youngest  of  two  children.  Others 
had  come  to  brighten  their  home ;  but  they  had  only 
tarried  for  a  little  while.  Tom  was  the  only  son,  two 
years  older  than  Ella,  and  dear  to  his  mother  and 
sister  as  the  very  apple  of  their  eye.  He  had  shared 
his  father's  toil  ever  since  he  was  old  enough  to  pull 


THE  FOSTER  FAMILY.  171 

weeds  or  hold  a  plow-handle;  "but  lately  he  had 
shown  considerable  quickness  in  mastering  the  studies 
assigned  him  in  the  district  school,  and  his  mother's 
brother,  who  lived  in  the  city ,"' having  taken  quite  a 
fancy  to  him,  had,  after  considerable  coaxing,  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  his  father  to  let  him  spend  the 
Winter  at  his  house,  and  attend  school  with  his 
cousins — on  the  condition,  however,  that  his  board 
should  not  cost  him  any  thing. 

The  evening  after  the  conversation  recorded  above, 
Ella  Deceived  a  letter  from  her  brother,  saying  he  ex- 
pected to  come  home  during  holidays,  and  adding: 

"I  should  like  to  ask  Lew  Merrell,  a  school- 
mate of  mine,  home  with  me,  Ella ;  but  his  home  is 
so  much  nicer  than  mine  that  I  do  n't  like  to. 
Could  n't  you  coax  father  to  get  something  new  for 
the  front  room  ?  I  know  you  could  brighten  it  up 
nicely  if  you  had  the  chance.  If  you  could  only 
coax  father  to  give  you  fifty  dollars  when  he  sells  the 
hogs,  you  could  make  the  old  house  look  splendid, 
Puss  !  It  won't  be  hard  work  to  persuade  mother ; 
she  likes  nice  things  almost  as  well  as  you  do.  I 
want  Lew  to  come ;  but  I  shall  not  ask  him  unless 
you  can  coax  father  to  fix  up  the  house.  He  has 
every  thing  so  pleasant  at  home — not  fine,  you  know, 
but  so  cheerful  and  neat." 

These  few  lines  decided  Ella,  and  when  her  father 
came  in  to  supper,  and  said  he  had  sold  his  hogs  for 
one  cent  more  on  the  pound  than  he  had  expected 
to  receive,  she  thought  the  opportunity  a  good  one, 
and  while  lie  sat  by  the  fire  after  supper,  looking 
over  the  city  paper,  she  asked,  a  little  timidly: 


172  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  ¥OLKS. 

"  Father,  how  much  money  will  you  receive  for 
the  hogs  you  sold  to-day  ?" 

"About  nine  hundred  dollars;"  and  Mr.  Foster 
looked  up,  wondering  why  his  daughter  should  be 
interested  in  the  subject. 

"Well,  then,  father,  don't  you  think  you  could 
afford  a  new  carpet  for  the  front  room  ?  I  mean  an 
ingrain,  like  Aunt  Mary  has  in  her  sitting-room." 

Mr.  Foster  looked  at  her  a  moment,  as  if  to 
be  certain  that  he  had  heard  correctly,  and  then 
said:  "What  has  put  that  into  your  head?  Your 
mother  and  I  have  been  married  twenty-five  years, 
and  never  had  any  thing  better  than  a  rag  carpet. 
No :  ingrain,  as  you  call  it,  will  do  for  city  folks  ; 
if  you  want  a  carpet,  make  one — you  've  nothing 
else  to  do." 

"But,  father,  I  am  tired  of  rag  carpets,  and  I  am 
tired  of  making  them,  too,"  persisted  Ella. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  do?  spend  your 
time  in  crocheting  or  in  gadding  to  the  village,  I  sup- 
pose !  No ;  I  have  other  use  for  my  money  than  to 
buy  ingrain  carpets  with  it.  I  must  make  a  payment 
of  six  hundred  dollars  on  the  Johnson  farm  next 
week,  and  I  have  bargained  for  a  corn-crusher  that 
will  cost  fifty  dollars.  Smith  says  he  saves  one-third 
the  amount  of  feed  by  his.  Then  I  must  look  up 
some  more  yearlings,  to  feed  the  roughness  to  this 
Winter,  and  that  will  take  all  my  spare  change,"  and 
with  this,  for  him,  rather  lengthy  explanation,  Mr. 
Foster  turned  to  his  paper  again. 

Ella  made  no  reply ;  her  little  castle  in  the  air 
had  suddenly  fallen,  and,  gathering  up  her  work,  she 


THE  FOSTER  FAMILY.  173 

went  to  her  own  room,  and,  sitting  down  on  a  stool 
by  the  low  window,  she  laid  her  head  on  the  sill 
and  sobbed  quietly  to  herself.  At  last,  when  her 
feelings  had  spent  themselves  a  little,  she  rose,  lit 
the  lamp,  and  sat  down  to  finish  the  garment  she 
was  making. 

"Father  thinks  more  of  his  stock  than  he  does 
of  his  family,"  she  said  to  herself,  impatiently.  "I 
wonder  how  he  could  spare  Tom ;  I  wish  /  could  get 
away  from  the  farm  for  a  year  or  two !  No,  I  do  n't, 
either^  for  then  mother  would  have  my  work  and 
hers  ooth  to  do;  but  —  O  dear!  I  am  so  tired  of  it 
all, "  and  again  the  tears  welled  up  in  the  blue, eyes, 
but  were  resolutely  dashed  away,  and  the  work 
which  had  fallen  in  her  lap  was  again  taken  up,  and 
finally  finished.  Then  she  sought  her  pillow,  to 
dream  of  bright-colored  carpets  and  lace  curtains, 
oddly  mixed  up  with  crushed  corn  and  yearling 
calves. 

The  next  day  Ella  reported  to  her  mother  the 
result  of  her  petition. 

Mrs.  Foster  sighed  and  bid  her  daughter  be  pa- 
tient. 

"Your  father  means  it  for  your  good,  and  he 
does  n't  feel  the  need  of  such  things,  as  we  do  ;  you 
know  he  is  seldom  in  the  house,  except  at  meal- 
times." 

"I  would  n't  care  so  much  for  myself,"  said  Ella, 
tearfully;  "but  Tom  wants  to  bring  Levy  Merrill 
home  with  him,  and  he  can  't  when  every  thing  looks 
so  shabby ;  and  /don't  want  strangers  here,  either, 
unless  we  can  have  things  like  other  folks.  I  sup- 


174  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

pose  Tom  will  have  to  come  home  alone,  or  stay  at 
uncle's  during  holidays,"  and  then,  as  if  affrighted 
at  the  thought,  she  exclaimed:  "O,  I  hope  he  will 
not  stay  there  over  Christmas;  he  has  been  gone 
nearly  two  months,  now!" 

Tom  came  home  during  holidays,  but  he  did 
not  bring  his  friend  with  him  ;  his  pride  would  not 
grant  his  schoolmate  the  opportunity  to  draw  un- 
pleasant contrasts  between  the  two  homes. 

There  were  no  Christmas  presents  bestowed  in 
the  home  of  the  Fosters.  For  the  first  two  years 
after  their  marriage,  Mrs.  Foster  had  made  her 
husband  a  present,  but  he  had  not  remembered  her 
in  like  manner,  and  even  laughed  at  the  dressing- 
gown  which  she  had  made  for  him  when  he  was 
sleeping,  declaring  that  he  did  n't  want  to  wear 
"woman's  clothes,"  and  so  she  had  abandoned  what 
had  been  a  standing  custom  in  her  girlhood's  home. 
Ella  would  occasionally  express  a  wish  that  she 
could  have  pleasant  surprises,  as  her  cousins  had  on 
Christmas  mornings,  but  her  father  always  said  he 
could  not  afford  it,  and  so  Christmas  was  pretty 
much  the  same  to  them  as  any  other  day,  except 
that  the  kind-hearted  city  uncle  would  occasionally 
send  his  'nephew  and  niece  some  little  tokens  of 
remembrance. 

During  vacation,  Tom  took  occasion  to  say  to 
his  sister :  "I  shall  never  come  back  to  the  farm 
again.  Of  course,  I  shall  come  back  and  see  the 
home  folks ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  drudge  here 
any  longer.  I  would  not  mind  staying  here  if  there 
was  any  rest,  but  father  never  takes  any  himself,  nor 


THE  FOSTER  FAMILY.  175 

allows  any  one  else  to.  Uncle  hag  offered  me  a 
place  in  the  shop  with  him,  and  I  am  going  to  ac- 
cept it ;  and  O,  Puss,  it  is  so  pleasant  at-  uncle's  ! 
The  girls  all  work,  but  they  do  n't  have  to  keep  at  it 
all  the  time.  We  have  suck  fun  of  evenings;  and 
uncle  and  aunt  are  the  best  company  of  all." 

' '  But  what  will  /  do  when  you  are  gone,  Tom  ? 
I  shall  be  all  alone,  then." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  if  I  stay  it  will  not  make  it  any 
easier  for  you.  Father  will  manage  to  keep  us  all 
busy;  you  and  mother  are  just  wearing  yourselves 
to  d£ath,  to  make  money,  and  then  to  think  he 
would  n't  buy  you  a  new  carpet !  I  declare  it 's  too 
bad !  I  wonder  if  he  has  any  idea  how  much 
you  and  mother  save  every  year,  besides  what  he 
gets  for  the  butter  and  poultry?  You  had  better 
be  a  hired  girl,  and  done  with  it ;  you  would  get  to 
rest  some  time,  and  have  the  pleasure  of  spending 
what  you  earned,  besides." 

And  Tom  whittled  away  desperately  at  the  pine 
stick  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  forgetful  that  he 
was  making  dirt  on  the  clean  floor  for  his  sister  to 
,sweep  up. 

Ella  made  no  reply  to  his  impatient  words,  and 
Tom  looked  up  to  see  the  tears  stealing,  one  by 
one,  down  her  cheeks,  as  she  hastily  brushed  them 
away  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  and  went  on  set- 
ting the  table  for  dinner. 

He  jumped  up  hastily,  threw  the  stick  into  the 
fire,  and  shut  his  knife,  exclaiming,  as  he  did  so : 
"There,  I  '11  never  say  another  word  about  it;  I 
know  it  makes  you  feel  worse ;  and  I  do  ri t  want 


176  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

you  to  leave  mother;  but  there  's  no  use  talking  —  I 
can't  stand  it,  and  I  won't." 

And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word. 

He  went  back  to  school.  After  the  school  closed, 
he  took  a  situation  in  his  uncle's  shop,  and  for  a 
time  he  did  well ;  but  the  sudden  change  from  the 
severest  drudgery  to  the  liberty  to  go  and  come  as 
he  pleased  was  too'  much,  and  Tom  Foster,  bewil- 
dered by  the  allurements  of  city  life,  thrust  upon  him 
so  suddenly,  yielded  to  temptation,  and  became  a 
fast  young  man. 

The  mother  and  Ella  shed  many  bitter  tears  over 
the  wayward  one,  while  the  father  was  often  heard  to 
say  he  "couldn't  see  why  Tom  should  be  so  idle 
and  shiftless,  when  he  never  knew  any  thing  else  but 
work  till  he  was  twenty,"  apparently  unconscious  that 
it  was  his  "all  work  and  no  play"  system  which  had 
driven  his  son  from  what  might  have  been  a  pleasant 
and  safe  occupation,  into  temptations  of  which  he 
had  never  even  heard,  and  which  he  had  not  the 
power  to  resist. 


JOYFUL  KIDINGS. 


"  High  in  the  belfry  the  old  sexton  stands, 
Clasping  the  rope  in  his  thin,  bony  hands," 

ND  all  along  the  principal  streets  of  Phila- 
delphia stood  the  sentinels  ready  to  send 
the  tidings  of  the  signing  of  the  Declara- 
tion  of  Independence ;  and  as  the  first  sentry 
received  the  news  it  was  repeated  to  his  neigh- 
bor, and  so  it  was  borne  along  the  street,  and 
the  command,   "  Ring,  ring  the  bells!"  reached 
the    old   sexton,   and   he,    in  joyful   obedience, 
rings  out  the  peal  that  tells  of  a  nation's  birth. 
How   the  hearts   of   the   people  must   have 
leaped   for  joy  as  they  heard   the  merry  bells 
peal  forth  the  sounds  which  told  them  the  blow 
for  liberty  had  been  struck. 

But  seventeen  hundred  years  before  that  joyful 
ringing  came  the  news  to  earth  of  a  far  more  im- 
portant event. 

When  Christ  was  born  not  men  but  angels  stood 
as  sentries,  ready  to  tell  the  joyful  news  one  to  an- 
other. O,  what  joyful  news !  Not  that  a  nation 
was  trying  to  break  the  fetters  which  bound  her,  but 
that  the  world's  Deliverer  had  come. 

"Swift  through  the  vast  expanse  it  flew, 

And  loud  the  echo  rolled  ; 
The  theme,  the  song,  the  joy  was  new, 

'T  was  more  than  heaven  could  hold. 


178  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS 

Down  through  the  portals  of  the  sky 

The  impetuous  torrent  ran, 
And  angels  flew  with  eager  joy 

To  bear  the  news  to  'man  !" 

And  to-day  in  every  pulpit  in  the  land  stands  a 
sentry  ready  to  call  out  to  the  waiting  people,  "Ring, 
ring  the  bells!"  and  may  we  not  hope  that  ere  many 
more  Christmas  days  shall  roll  around  that  the  line 
of  sentries  shall  encircle,  our  earth,  and  the  joy  bells 
shall  be  rung,  one  after  another,  until  they  shajl 
awake  one  grand  jubilee  of  joy  all  around  the  world? 

No  wonder  the  shepherds  "were  sore  afraid,"  for 
the)'  were  unaccustomed  to  such  sights.  Not  often 
had  they  heard  of  the  angel  of  the  Lord  appearing 
to  men  of  such  humble  station  as  they.  True,  the 
angels  had  visited  man,  but  not  with  such  glory  as 
this.  The  glory  of  God  is  not  often  manifested  to 
mortal  eyes. 

But  not  long  does  the  angel  leave  them  in  dread 
or  suspense.  "Fear  not;  for  behold  I  bring  you 
good  tidings  of  great  joy,  which  shall  be  to  all  peo- 
ple," and  then,  while  they  listen  with  bated  breath, 
he  proceeds,  "for  unto  you  is  born  this  day  in  the 
city  of  David,  a  Savior,  which  is  Christ  the  Lord !" 
How  the  announcement  must  have  thrilled  on  the 
ears  of  these  shepherds  of  Judea ! 

For  ages  the  Israelites  had  been  looking  forward 
to  the  promised  coming  of  the  Messiah,  and  their 
hearts  had  many  times  cried  out,  ' '  How  long,  O 
Lord,  how  long !" 

These  shepherds  had  heard  of  the  promises  given 
by  the  prophet  Isaiah  of  the  coming  of  Him  who 


JOYFUL  TIDINGS.  179 

was  to  be  called  Wonderful,  Counselor,  the  Mighty 
God,  the  Everlasting  Father,  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
and  now  their  hearts  filled  with  rapture  at  the  good 
news.  And  even  while  they  were  wondering  and 
amazed  at  the  strange  tidings,  "suddenly  there 
was  with  the  angel  a  multitude  of  the  heavenly- 
host, "  and  there  burst  forth  from  the  celestial  choir 
one  glad  song,  one  grand  anthem,  one  triumphal 
chorus!  "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  on  earth 
jaeace,  good  will  to  men !"  And  if  the  shepherds 
realized  the  meaning  of  the  wonderful  message  they, 
too,  said,  "  Glory  to  God  !" 

"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,"  sang  the  angel 
choir.  "Glory  to  God"  has  been  sung  by  myriads 
of  happy  voices,  by  vast  numbers  of  redeemed  souls 
since  that  eventful  night ;  and  "  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  amen  and  amen  T  echo  our  hearts  to-day  as 
we  read  the  "  sweet  story  of  old  !" 

If  Jesus,  whose  nativity  was  heralded  by  the 
heavenly  messengers,  had  been  born  in  a  palace,  man 
might,  in  his  perverseness,  have  thought  he  was  sent 
only  to  the  rich.  But  while  his  advent  was  pro- 
claimed by  the  angel  of  the  Lord,  his  birth  was 
lowly,  and  so  was  his  whole  life. 

Perhaps  on  this  Christmas  day  some  of  God's 
children  may  be  tempted  to  feel  that  their  lot  is  a 
hard  one.  But  none  need  be  without  comfort.  Jesus 
spent  his  whole  earth-life  in  poverty,  yet  he  was  heir 
to  a  crown.  And  so  is  every  child  of  God  (no  matter 
how  poverty  stricken)  heir  to  a  crown  of  eternal  life, 
bought  with  the  precious  blood  of  him  whose  birth 
we  celebrate. 


180  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Meet  it  is  that  we  celebrate  the  anniversary  of 
God's  great  gift  to  us  by  the  bestowal  of  gifts  upon 
his  poor.  Not  to  the  rich,  who  will  not  value  our 
offerings,  but  to  those  whose  life  has  been  robbed 
of  many  blessings  which  we  enjoy.  O,  how  poor 
would  we  be  to-day  if  it  were  not  for  the  blessed  gift 
of  God's  dear  Son  ! 

Meet  it  is  that  we  bow  our  heads  in  humble 
thankfulness  while  we  read,  "For  unto  us  a  child  is 
born,  unto  us  a  Son  is  given,  and  the  government 
shall  be  upon'  his  shoulder ;  and  his  name  shall  be 
called  Wonderful,  Counselor,  the  Mighty  God,  the 
Everlasting  Father,  the  Prince  of  Peace."  And  as 
we  close  the  Book  let  us  lift  our  hearts  in  prayer  to 
God,  that  we  who  have  received  such  a  glorious  gift 
may  also  receive  more  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  more  of 
his  grace  in  our  hearts,  that  shall  make  us  meek  and 
lowly,  more  like  our  blessed  Savior,  our  Elder  Brother, 
and  God's  dear  Son. 

Ah,  over  and  over  will  that  sweet  story  be  re- 
peated on  this  festal  day !  Little  faces  will,  be  up- 
turned to  hear  the  oft  repeated  story  ;  little  lips  will 
quiver  and  young  eyes  will  grow  moist,  aye,  and  old 
ones  too,  as  the  touching  story  of  the  heavenly  Babe 
is  repeated  in  the  costly  temple  or  humble  chapel, 
in  palace  or  cot.  And  hearts  will  be  made  tenderer 
for  others'  sorrows  by  hearing  of  the  loving  sympathy 
of  him  who  came  to  save  us.  How  sweetly  simple 
the  story,  and  yet  so  freighte'd  with  the  destiny  of 
souls!  "Behold.  I  bring  you  good  tidings  of  great 
joy;"  and  not  to  you  only,  but  "which  shall  be  to  all 
people."  The  whole  world  is  to  rejoice  at  the  hum- 


JOYFUL  TIDINGS.  181 

ble  birth.  All  nations  shall  be  glad  because  of  his 
advent. 

"Lying  in  a  manger."  Lowliest  of  the  lowly, 
and  yet  the  sharer  of  the  Eternal  Throne!  were  ever 
poverty  and  royalty  so  united !  His  mother  the  wife 
of  a  carpenter,  himself  laid  in  a  manger!  Yet  the 
angel  of  the  Lord  commissioned  to  bear  the  news  to 
man. 

And  not  only  an  angel  is  sent  to  proclaim  the 
jdyful  tidings,  but  a  multitude  of  the  heavenly  host 
comes  to  sing  the  "Glory  to  God."  Fitting  mes- 
sengers for  such  glorious  tidings.  Fitting  escort  for 
such  a  heaven-sent  messenger.  Christ  might  have 
come  with  all  the  pomp  of  an  Eastern  monarch. 
But  no;  he  prefers  to  come  as  the  child  of  poverty. 
He  is  King  of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords,  and  yet, 

"  Cold  on  his  cradle  the  dewdrops  are  shining, 
Low  lies  his  head  with  the  beasts  of  the  stall." 

The  heavenly  messenger  might  have  been  sent  to 
Herod,  but  instead  he  came  to  a  little  company  of 
shepherds  on  the  hillsides  of  Judea. 

Jesus  was  to  be  called  "the  Lion  of  the  tribe  of 
Judah,"  and  the  glad  news  of  his  birth  was  first  told  to 
Judah's  sons.  And  they,  overjoyed  at  the  wondrous 
story,  leave  their  flocks  and  hasten  away  to  Bethle- 
hem, to  "see  this  thing  which  is  come  to  pass."  And 
when  they  had  seen  they  made  it  known  abroad. 
The  first  to  say  on  earth  "A  Savior  is  born,"  was 
the  angel  of  the  Lord — the  next  a  company  of  Ju- 
dean  shepherds.  And  as  we  read  the  story  we  won- 
der what  all  this  great  mystery  means.  Why  should 


1 82  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Jesus,  who  was  one  with  the  Father,  leave  his  heav- 
enly home  and  come  down  to  earth  to  bear  the  woes 
of  humanity?  Why  should  he  choose  to  leave  a 
throne  for  a  manner?  or  exchange  a  royal  robe  and 
crown  for  swaddling  clothes? 

While  we  are  wondering  we  turn  to  John  iii,  16, 
and  read,  ' '  For  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he 
gave  his  only  begotten  Son  that  whosoever  believeth 
in  him  should  not  perish  but  ...have  everlasting  life." 
And  then  the  mystery  is  all  solved.  All  is  made 
plain  in  that  one  word,  Love!  Love  to  whom?  To 
his  Son  ?  No.  For  dear  as  was  that  Son,  father- 
love  is  held  in  subjection  to  his  love  and  pity  for  our 
lost  condition,  and  he  gives  that  Son  so  well-beloved 
to  save  a  sin-cursed  world. 

Christ  was  not  only  born  into  the  world,  but  he 
came  as  our  sacrifice,  our  all  sufficient  atonement. 
No  wonder  the  angel  host  burst  forth  in  that  joyful 
anthem,  "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  on  earth 
peace,  good  will  to  men !"  And  O,  blessed  privilege, 

"  With  joy  the  chorus  we  repeat, 

Glory  to  God  on  high  ! 
Good  will  and  peace  are  now  complete — 
Jesus  was  born  to  die  !" 

"For  this  cause  came  I  unto  this  hour,"  said  the 
Savior  when  the  terrible  agony  drew  near. 

O,  when  we  contemplate  the  wonderful  incarna- 
tion we  feel  humbled.  All  our  efforts  to  praise  him 
seem  so  insignificant.  We  bow  our  faces  in  the  dust 
and  in  our  amazement  and  humility  cry  out, 

"  O,  eternity 's  too  short 
To  utter  all  his  praise !" 


JOYFUL  TIDINGS.  183 

But  God  in  his  tender  pity  for  our  weakness  has 
given  us  the  privilege  to  praise  him,  yea,  we  may  call 
him  what  even  the  angels  may  not,  "Our  Brother!" 
And  while  the  angels  surround  his  throne  in  heaven, 
praising  him  for  his  love  to  man,  we  too  are  permitted 
to  lift  our  glad  voices  in  a  hymn  of  praise  here 
below.  And  God  in  his  wisdom  and  abounding 
goodness  has  left  man  without  excuse. 


AYS'S 


^T  was  only  two  days  before  St.  Valentine's 
day,  and  the  windows  of  the  village  book- 
store were  filled  with  a  variety  of  bright- 
:olored  valentines,    ranging  all    the    way   from 
the  most  sentimental  down   to   the   most  com- 
ical and  ludicrous. 

The  children,  on  their  way  to  school,  stopped 
and  gazed  with  open-mouthed  astonishment  at 
the  wonderful  display.  The  misses  and  boys 
of  larger  growth  —  with  just  as  much  interest, 
but  more  dignity — -walked  slowly  by,  as  they 
scanned  with  careful  eyes  the  tempting  variety, 
in  "prices  to  suit  purchasers,"  resolving  to  examine 
more  closely  on  their  way  home. 

A  group  of  girls,  ranging  from  thirteen  to  fifteen 
years  of  age,  had  knotted  together  in  the  "  hall"  of 
the  school-building,  and  were  talking  over  the  pros- 
pect for  some  fun,  and  wondering  whether  they  would 
receive  any  valentines  themselves,  and  hoping  for 
something  "real  nice."  The  tap  of  the  bell  pres- 
ently called  them  from  their  gossip,  and  soon  the 
.recitations  were  going  on  with  their  usual  monot- 
onous routine.  But  thoughts  of  valentines  were  still 
uppermost  in  their  minds,  and  crowded  out  more  im- 
portant thoughts ;  and,  as  a  consequence,  when  the 
"class  in  history"  was  called  out  they  felt  them- 


MARGIE  HAYS'S  VALENTINE.  185 

selves  wholly  unprepared.  The  answers  were  mostly 
confused  and  hurried,  and  while  some  were  correct 
it  was  more  of  "guess-work"  than  genuine  knowl- 
edge. Only  one  member  of  the  class  seemed  to  have 
studied  the  lesson  thoroughly,  and  that  was  Margie 
Hays,  a  young  girl  of  fifteen,  who  had  but  recently 
entered  the  school,  and  who,  because  of  her  reserved 
manner,  evident  poverty,  and  uniform  good  lessons, 
was  not. very  popular  with  her  more  favored,  though 
l^ss  diligent,  schoolmates.  To  day  the  class  felt  that 
Margie  had  a  decided  advantage  over  them,  but  tried 
to  brave  it  out.  But  guessing  did  not  succeed  very 
well,  and  when  Miss  Burton  asked  the  question:  "In 
what  year  was  Florida  discovered,  and  by  whom?" 
the  answers  given  were  wide  of  the  correct  one,  while 
some  acknowledged  that  they  "didn't  know."  The 
question  passed  nearly  round  the  class,  and  reached 
Margie  Hays,  and,  although  she  felt  that  the  eyes  of 
the  whole  class  were  fixed  on  her  with  a  look  which 
seemed  to  say,  "Don't  you  dare  to  answer  cor- 
rectly," she  answered,  clearly  and  distinctly,  as  if 
sure  she  was  right:  "In  1512,  by  Ponce  de 
Leon." 

There  was  a  little  sniff  of  contempt  from  the  delin- 
quent members  of  the  class,  as  Margie  took  her  place 
at  the  head,  and  as  they  took  their  seats  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  "new  scholar"  had  not  gained  favor  by 
answering  the  question  correctly. 

When  recess  came,  and  they  were  outside  the 
school-room,  their  bottled  wrath  had  opportunity  to 
vent  itself  in  words. 

Bessie  Hoyt-  thought  "she  ought  to  be  ashamed 
16 


i86  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

to  set  herself  above  the  rest  of  the  class,  when  she 
had  only  been  in  the  school  two  weeks." 

While  Susie  Brown  was  sure  "she  wore  the  same 
dress  to  Sabbath-school  that  she  wore  to  the  public 
school." 

"  Hush!"  whispered  Nellie  Hall;  "she  may  hear 
you." 

"Who  cares  if  she  does?"  responded  Bessie,  with 
a  toss  of  .her  head;  "but  there  is  no  danger,  for  she 
is  poring  over  her  books  as  if  her  life  depended  upon 
having  every  word  perfectly." 

"She  ought  to  study  them  well,  for  they  were  a 
present  from  the  school  board  ;  I  heard  papa  say  so 
yesterday,"  said  Susie,  with  a  sneer. 

While  some  one  added,  in  a  tone  of  evident  scorn, 
"  Humph,  a  charity  scholar !" 

Presently  Bessie's  face  brightened  up.  "O, 
girls,"  she  whispered;  "I've  thought  of  something 
that  will  just  take  the  starch  out  of  her  in  a 
hurry." 

The  bevy  of  girls  hovered  nearer  to  Bessie,  all 
eager  to  know  the  plan  by  which  they  could  over- 
throw this  feminine  Mordecai,  who  refused  to  do  hom- 
age to  their  superior  position,  if  not  talents. 

"O  Bessie,  what  is  it?'*  they  whispered  in 
chorus. 

Bessie  felt  the  importance  of  her  position,  and 
answered,  with  dignity:  "  If  you  will  promise  to 
keep  it  secret,  I'll  tell  you."  All  were  ready  to 
make  the  required  promise.  "Well,  then,"  said 
Bessie,  in  a  stage  whisper,  "we  will  send  her  a  val- 
entine." 


MARGIE  HAYS'S  VALENTINE.  187 

"Good — good!  what  will  it  be?"  cried  the  girls, 
in  a  breath. 

"The  Charity  Scholar,"  said  Bessie. 

The  girls  took  up  with  the  suggestion  at  once; 
but  recess  was  over,  and  there  was  no  time  for  dis- 
cussion until  noon. 

On  the  way  home  the  plan  was  talked  over,  and 
it  was  decided  that  the  book-store  had  nothing  suita- 
ble, so  one  of  their  number,  who  had  a  "gift"  for  car- 
<c"ature,  was- employed  to  draw  up  a  sketch  of  Margie 
receiving  her  books  from  the  school  board,  the  faces 
in  the  sketch  being  enough  like  the  originals  to  be 
recognized,  and  "The  Chanty  Scholar"  printed  in 
large  letters  below. 

On  Valentine's  eve  Nellie  Hall  was  commissioned 
to  mail  the  sweet-looking  package,  which  contained 
such  an  unkind  caricature. 

This  was  Nellie's  first  experience  in  sending  an 
ill-natured  valentine,  and  some  way  the  affair  did  not 
seem  so  pleasant  as  in  the  beginning,  and  she  walked 
rather  slowly  along  the  street  towards  the  post- 
office. 

"I  wonder  how  I  should  feel  if  I  were  in  Mar- 
gie's place?"  thought  Nellie;  "I'm  sure  she  will 
think  us  ill-natured  ;  and  may  be  she  is  n't  selfish,  as 
we  think,  and  if  she  is  poor  she  can  't  help  that. ' ' 

The  more  she  thought  of  the  unkind  picture,  the 
more  she  wished  she  had  not  consented  to  take  part 
in  the  trick.  Cautiously  she  took  the  package  from 
the  pocket  of  her  water-proof  and  looked'at  it,  walk- 
ing more  slowly  all  the  time,  as  if  undecided  whether 
to  go  forward  or  backward. 


1 88  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Finally  she  stood  still,  with  the,  envelope  in  one 
hand  while  she  jingled  some  loose  coin  in  her  pocket 
with  the  other ;  then,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  sud- 
denly taken  possession  of  her,  she  said,  with  a  little 
gleeful  laugh,  "Margie  shall  never  see  this  naughty 
picture.  I  '11  fix  it  all  right,  and  the  girls  shall  never 
know,"  and  with  this  resolution  Nellie  -started  for- 
ward again.  But  instead  of  going  straight  on  to  the 
post  office,  she  turned  down  the  street  leading  to  the 
book-store. 

Nellie  approached  cautiously  at  first,  and  glanced 
through  the  glass  doors  to  make  sure  that  none  of 
"the  girls"  were  within.  Having  assured  herself 
that  the  coast  was  clear,  she  stepped  in,  and,  hastily 
making  her  purchase,  wrote  a  few  words  on  the  in- 
side, slipped  it  into  a  large  white  envelope,  then  di- 
rected it  to  Miss  Margie  Hays. 

She  hurried  to  the  post-office,  dropped  it  in  the 
box,  and  hurried  away,  scarcely  able  to  decide  as  to 
whether  she  had  done  a  very  kind  or  a  very  mean 
thing. 

Morning  came  at  last,  and  what  a  rush  there  was 
for  the  post-office  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over. 
No  matter  if  some  did  have  to  go  four  or  five  blocks 
out  of  the  way,  in  order  to  pass  it  on  their  way  to 
school.  Each  one  was  anxious  to  know  if  there  was 
a  "letter  for  me,"  and  as  the  good-natured  postmaster 
and  his  clerks  knew  most  of  the  anxious  faces,  it  was 
not  necessary  to  give  their  names  in  full. 

Mrs.  Hays  had  sent  Margie  by  way  of  the  post- 
office  that  morning,  to  mail  a,  letter.  Margie  mailed 
it,  and  inquired  if  there  was  any  mail  for  "  Mrs.  Julia 


MARGIE  HAYS'S  VALENTINE.  189 

Hays,"  but  it  never  entered  her  head  to  ask  if  there 
was  a  letter  for  herself. 

"No,  there  is  nothing  for  Mrs.  Hays,"  the  clerk 
answered,  as  he  looked  over  the  bundle  of  letters; 
"but,"  as  Margie  turned  away,  "here  is  something 
for  Miss  Margie  Hays,  if  that  is  one  of  Mrs.  Hays's 
family." 

"O,  yes,  it  is  for  me;  thank  you,"  and  Margie 
tucked  the  beautiful  white  package  under  her  shabby 
c^oak,  and  hurried  on  to  school,  for  it  was  almost 
nine,  and  she  prided  herself  on  her  punctuality  and 
perfect  lessons. 

When  she  reached  school,  she  had  barely  time  to 
take  her  seat  when  the  last  stroke  of  the  bell  warned 
those  who  were  not  seated  that  Miss  Burton  would 
have  a  tardy  mark  opposite  their  name  at  the  close 
of  the  day. 

Margie  longed  to  see  the  contents  of  the  myste- 
rious package,  but  she  was  obliged  to  wait  until  re- 
cess. Bessie  and  Susie  tried  to  read  Margie's  face, 
as  she  took  her  seat,  and  for  some  time  after  their 
eyes  would  wander  to  her  desk ;  but  concluded  that 
she  either  had  not  received  the  valentine,  or  else  it  had 
not  had  the  effect  which  they  had  expected  it  would. 
Nellie  felt  like  a  poor,  guilty  thing,  and  tried  to  keep 
her  eyes  on  the  lesson  before  her,  but  her  face  red- 
dened every  time  she  caught  the  eyes  of  the  plot- 
ters. 

Recess  came  at  last,  but  Margie  did  not  leave  her 
seat,  but  sat  quietly  waiting  until  the  scholars  had 
left  the  room ;  then  she  took  out  the  package,  looked 
at  it  carefully,  then  broke  the  seal. 


190  STORIES 'OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Bessie,  Susie,  and  Nellie,  with  two  others  who 
were  in  the  secret,  had  stationed  themselves  in  the 
hall,  where  they  could  see  Margie  bending  over  her 
desk,  although  her  position  prevented  their  seeing 
the  valentine  or  getting  a  fair  view  of  her  face,  and 
it  must  be  confessed,  to  the  credit  of  Bessie  and 
Susie,  that  the  trick  did  not  seem  half  so  funny  now 
that  they  thought  they  were  about  to  triumph  over 
the  unpopular  stranger. 

Only  for  a  moment  or  two  did  Margie  look  at  her 
valentine,  and  then  down  went  her  head  upon  the 
desk,  and  the  watchers  saw  that  she  was  sobbing 
violently. 

Bessie  and  Susie,  with  their  companions,  tried  to 
feel  triumphant ;  but,  instead,  felt  as  if  they  had 
been  guilty  of  a  very  mean  act. 

Nellie  was  puzzled,  and  her  heart  almost  leaped 
into  her  throat.  Could  she  have  made  a  mistake, 
and  mailed  the  wrong  package,  after  all?  O,  what 
should  she  do ! 

Margie's  half  stifled  sobs,  had  attracted  the  at- 
tentioji  of  Miss  Burton,  who  had  been  busily  writ- 
ing at  her  desk.  As  she  looked  up  and  saw  Margie 
with  her  head  lying  on  the  desk  and  sobbing,  she 
suspected  that  some  unkind  or  thoughtless  prank 
had  been  played  on  the  new  scholar,  and,  laying 
down  her  pen,  she  went  to  Margie,  and  laid  her  hand 
on  her  head. 

The  spies  cast  upon  each  other  a  look  of  dismay. 
Now  the  teacher  would  see  the  hideous  picture,  and 
would  pity  Margie,  and  they  would  all  be  questioned 
about  it,  and  may  be  punished. 


MARGIE  HAYS'S  VALENTINE  191 

"What  is  it.  Margie?"  Miss  Burton  asked,  kind- 
ly, and  the  girl,  startled  out  of  her  sobs,  looked  up, 
showing  a  face  wet  with  tears. 

But  the  teacher,  with  a  surprised  look,  and  with 
out  waiting  for  Margie  to  'answer  her  question,  reached 
out  her  hand  and  took  from  the  desk  the  missive  over 
which  Margie  had  been  sobbing;  but,  instead  of  the 
ugly  caricature,  the  girls  saw  a  beautiful  valentine  — 
more  handsome  than  any  they  had  received  them- 
selves. Nellie  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  ' '  It  is  all 
right,  after  all,"  she  said  to  herself. 

The  others  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise, 
and,  forgetful  that  they  had  been  acting  the  part  of 
spies,  opened  the  door  and  went  forward  on  tiptoe. 
As  they  came  near,  Miss  Burton  was  saying: 

"Was  this  what  made  you  cry,  Margie?"  and 
Margie,  brushing  off  her  tears  with  the  back  of  her 
hand,  answered: 

"I  know  it  seems  foolish;  but  it  was  such  a  sur- 
prise. I  did  n't  think  the  girls  cared  for  me  one  bit, 
and  this  is  the  first  valentine  that  I  have  received 
since  papa  died,  four  years  ago." 

Bessie  was  near  enough  to  see  that  at  the  bottom 
of  the  inside  page  was  written,  with  a  pencil,  the 
words,  "With  good  wishes,  from  your  classmates," 
and,  with  a  glance  at  Nellie,  they  knew  they  had 
been  "sold." 

Without  waiting  to  see  or  hear  any  more,  they 
retreated  to  the  hall,  Nellie  with  the  rest.  As  they 
turned  for  one  look  before  closing  the  door,  they 
saw  Miss  Burton  take  Margie's  face  between  her 
hands,  and  kiss  her  lovingly. 


1 92  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"O  girls,"  whispered  Nellie,  her  eyes  full  of 
tears,  "don't  be  cross;  I  could  n't  help  it.  It 
seemed  too  bad  to  send  her  that  horrid  thing,  and 
so  I  bought  this  with  my  own  money,  and  burned 
the  other." 

Bessie's  better  nature  triumphed,  and  she  said 
heartily:  "Good  for  you,  Nell!" 

And  Susie  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "I  'm  glad 
Nell  did  n't  mail  the  other ;  I  've  felt  real  mean  about 
it  all  the  time." 

But  the  recess  was  ended,  and  there  was  no  more 
time  for  talking,  but  all  through  the  day  Margie's 
face  beamed  with  good  will  whenever  she  looked  at 
her  classmates,  for  she  supposed  it  was  a  partnership 
gift ;  and  the  girls,  glad  to  have  the  other  affair  off 
their  shoulders,  were  only  too  willing  to  treat  Margie 
with  more  cordiality  than  usual,  and,  a  few  days 
after,  they  compelled  Nellie  to  let  them  pay  their 
share  in  the  bill  of  expense. 

The  acts  of  kindness  performed  for  Margie  in 
their  little  "shamming,"  had  not  only  softened  their 
own  hearts,  but  Margie's,  and  there  were  soon  no 
better  friends  in  all  the  village  than  Margie  and  her 
classmates ;  and  Margie  never  heard  of  ' '  The  Char- 
ity Scholar." 


COULDN'T  ]V(OTHER  0ARE  FOR 
MHIHGS  ?" 


SUPPOSE  the  excursion   to  L will 

be  a  very  pleasant  affair,  as  there  will  be 
no  more  tickets  sold  than  there  are  seats 
in  the  coaches,  and  there  will  be  a  whole  day 
for  sight-seeing  in  the  city." 

The  speaker,  Mrs.  Huston,  was  a  young 
wife  and  mother,  who  had  brought  her  little 
twelve-months'- old  baby  and  some  sewing  to 
"finish  off"  while  she  spent  an  hour  or  two 
with  her  neighbor  and  friend,  Mrs.  Starr,  a 
bright,  bustling  woman,  with  a  family  of  four 
children,  who  were  as  bright  and  bustling,  in 
their  own  particular  way,  as  was  the  mother. 

Mrs.  Starr  answered  her  friend's  remark  cheerily, 
"Yes,    I   think   so.     I  expect  to  enjoy   it   very 
much." 

"Why,  ^Q you  think  of  going?"  asked  Mrs.  Hus- 
ton, in  apparent  astonishment. 

"Yes;  why  not?"  with  an  amused  smile,  as  she 
saw  the  look  of  surprise  on  Mrs.  Huston's  face. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  why  not,  only  I  didn't 
suppose  you  would  think  of  going  on  such  a  trip, 
while  you  have  such  a  family  on  your  hands,"  and 
her  friend  looked  as  if  she  was  uncertain  as  to 
whether  she  had  made  a  blunder  or  a  hit. 
17 


194  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"That  is  the  very  reason  I  am  going.  I  need 
the  change,  and  so  do  the  children,"  was  replied, 
pleasantly. 

"You  surely  will  not  take  them  with  you!"  and 
Mrs.  Huston  looked  more  astonished  than  before. 

"No,  indeed.  I  could  not  think  of  taking  them 
out  of  school  just  now;  but  I  expect  them  to  get  as 
much  real  benefit  from  the  trip  as  I  will;  for  I  know 
I  will  be  all  the  brighter  for  the  change,  and — " 

"  O,  you  are  always  bright  and  cheerful,  any 
way,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Huston,  with  a  deprecatory 
gesture. 

"  But  you  do  not  know  how  much  of  an  effort  it 
requires,  sometimes,  for  me  to  be  bright  and  cheer- 
ful;" and  Mrs.  Starr  finished  the  sentence  with  a 
sigh,  then  added,  thoughtfully,  "I  find  I  must  keep 
pace  with  my  children  if  I  would  retain  my  hold  on 
their  respect  and  confidence." 

' '  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  afford  the  time ;  you 
say  you  are  already  overburdened,  sometimes,  and 
then  there  are  the  children,"  persisted  Mrs.  Huston, 
as  she  fastened  her  thread,  as  if  it  were  an  unanswer- 
able argument. 

"I  think  the  time  will  be  well  spent;  and  as  to 
leaving  the  children  for  forty-eight  hours,  I  don't 
know  but  it  will  do  them  good  to  miss  mother  for 
just  a  little  while.  You  know,  the  song  says, 

"  Strange  we  never  prize  the  music 
Till  the  sweet-voiced  bird  is  flown." 

And  I  have  concluded  that  my  family  will  appreciate 
me  just  as  much   if  I   allow    myself  a   little  rest  and 


WOULDN'T  MOTHER  CARE  FOR  SUCH  THINGS?     195 

recreation,  and  give  them  an  opportunity  to  see  what 
I  do  when  I  am  here." 

"But  it  doesn't  look  right  to  leave  the  children 
in  the  care  of  a  servant  who  feels  no  personal  interest 
in  them.  I  know  /wouldn't  have  a  minute's  peace 
if  I  thought  my  precious  Maud  was  left  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  Bridget,"  and  Mrs.  Huston  picked  up  her 
little  one,  that  had  been  clinging  by  her  side,  and 
gave  it  a  little  hug  that  was  meant  as  an  emphasis  to 
htr  words.  - 

"In  the  first  place,  I  shall  not  leave  them  to  the 
care  of  the  girl  alone.  Their  father  has  scarcely  a 
moment  of  time  for  them,  but  Aunt  Mary  has  prom- 
ised to  stay  here  until  I  return,  and  as  the  children 
are  in  school  nearly  all  day,  there  will  not  be  very 
much  care  or  responsibility  as  to  their  welfare  resting 
upon  Norah.  Now,  are  you  convinced?"  and  Mrs. 
Starr  laughed  good-humoredly  at  her  friend's  sober 
face. 

"And  yet  that  sounds  so  unlike  you.  Haven't 
you  always  told  me  that  I  must  make  up  my  mind 
to  stay  at  home  and  devote  myself  to  my  family,  and 
when  they  were  grown,  educated  and  out  in  the 
world,  then  it  would  be  time  enough  for  me  to  think 
of  enjoying  life  ?" 

"Yes,  I  acknowledge  it  all,  and  I  want  to  beg 
your  pardon,  and  I  hope  that  you  will,  in  a  measure, 
consider  that  advice  as  if  it  had  never  been  given — 
not  that  I  would  not  have  you  and  every  mother  de- 
voted to  the  interests  of  her  family,  but  the  way  to 
do  that  is  not  by  making  herself  their  slave.  And  I 
want  to  tell  you  how  I  came  to  change  my  views 


196          STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

about  such  things ;  for  it«is,  as  you  say,  a  new  thing 
forme  to  talk  as  I  do  on  this  subject."  And  the 
good  woman  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  energetically 
while  she  pulled  out  basting  threads  with  a  vigor  that 
harmonized  well  with  her  words  and  tone. 

"I  was  calling  on  Mrs.  W.  when  this  excursion 
was  first  talked  of,  and  she  expressed  a  strong  desire 
to  go.  But  the  family  treated  the  idea  as  absurd,  in 
fact,  as  a  sort  of  joke,  that  such  a  thought  had  en- 
tered the  mother's  head  ;  and  even  Mrs.  W.  herself 
laughed  a  little,  while  her  face  reddened,  apparently 
at  the  consciousness  of  her  own  temerity  in  even 
dreaming  of  such  a  thing.  You  know  there  is  no  lack 
of  the  necessary  funds,  and  her  family  would  not  be 
seriously  inconvenienced  if  she  should  be  absent  for 
a  few  days ;  but  the  prevailing  thought  in  the  mind 
of  husband,  sons,  and  daughters  seemed  to  be  that 
'  mother '  had  stayed  so  closely  at  home  during 
the  past  years,  that  she  had  lost  the  capacity  for 
enjoying  any  thing  that  was  not  connected  in  some 
way  with  food  or  dress  for  the  family.  And  yet  I 
know,  from  the  hungry  expression  which  came  over 
the  care-worn  face,  that  she  was  neither  too  old  in 
years  nor  too  old-fashioned  in  sentiment  and  taste  to 
long  for  mental  food  and  for  the  social  and  intellect- 
ual treat  which  this  trip  would  be  likely  to  afford 
her.  I  managed  to  keep  silent,  but  I  felt  rising  to 
my  lips  an  indignant  protest  against  the  selfishness 
that  would  set  the  wishes  of  the  wife  and  mother 
aside  as  if  she  were  a  mere  child,  incapable  of  decid- 
ing for  herself.  If  she  is  old-fashioned  and  lacks 
'  style '  it  is  because  she  has  given  up  her  own  will 


WOULDN'T  MOTHER  CARE  FOR  SUCH  THINGS?     197 

for  years,  denying  herself  luxuries,  and  even  what 
you  and  I  would  consider  necessities  for  mind  and 
body,  in  order  that  her  children  might  have  such 
advantages  as  would  fit  them  to  move  in  the  best 
society.  You  need  n't  smile  and  look  so  amused, 
for  I  was  really  quite  indignant,  and  deserve  great 
credit  for  not  speaking  out  there  and  then. 

"Since  then  I  have  been  thinking  it  over,  and 
this  question  comes  to  my  mind,  When  I  am  fifty 
0r  sixty  years  old,  will  my  husband  and  children 
coolly  set  me  aside  and  say,  practically,  if  not  in 
words,  '  You  have  stayed  at  home  so  long  that  you 
will  not  enjoy  society  now ;  besides,  you  are  too  old- 
fashioned,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  keep  you  from  mak- 
ing a  spectacle  of  yourself.'  You  remember  that 
handsome  bonnet  I  purchased  last  Spring,  just  before 
I  took  down  with  the  lung  fever?  I  only  wore  it 
once,  and  when  I  recovered  from  the  fever,  and  was 
able  to  be  out  again,  it  was  time  for  a  Summer  bon- 
net, and  so  the  Spring  bonnet  was  left  in  its  box. 
Last  week  I  took  it  out  to  see  if  it  would  not  do  for 
this  Spring.  Well,  the  material  is  all  good  and  fine, 
but  you  can  understand  that  it  is  entirely  out  of 
style,  and  would  need  a  thorough  remodeling  if  I 
wear  it.  I  do  n't  want  to  be  kept  shut  up  until  I  am 
entirely  behind  the  times,  like  that  bonnet.  Neither  do 
I  want  to  have  those,  for  whom  I  have  spent  the- best 
years  of  my  life,  tell  me  that  I  am  so  far  behind  the 
times  that  I  can  not  appreciate  the  beautiful  in  art  or 
literature.  I  had  not  thought  it  was  possible  for 
me  to  go  on  that  excursion,  but  after  I  thought  it  all 
over,  I  decided  to  go." 


198          STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"And  what  did  your  husband  say  ?"  queried  Mrs. 
Huston. 

"  O,  John  looked  surprised  enough,  and  I  had  to 
state  the  matter  fully  and  clearly  the  second  time 
before  he  seemed  to  fairly  comprehend  that  it  was 
not  a  joke.  I  told  him  that  it  would  do  me  good, 
that  I  was  fairly  tired  out  with  the  Spring  work,  and 
asked  very  meekly  if  he  thought  he  and  the  children 
could  get  along  for  a  couple  of  days,  provided  Aunt 
Mary  would  oversee  Norah.  He  said  'Of  course,'  a 
little  dolefully,  and  then  added  slyly,  '  I  thought  you 
were  conscientiously  opposed  to  leaving  the  children 
until  they  were  old  enough  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves?' " 

"And  what  could  you  answer?"  asked  her 
listener. 

"Well,  I  pulled  his  ears  just  a  little  bit,  to  punish 
him  for  his  impudence,  and  then  I  told  him  the 
whole  story  and  my  conclusions  about  the  matter; 
and  the  dear,  good  soul  said  he  was  glad  of  it,  in 
fact  he  had  thought  for  a  long  time  that  I  was  mak- 
ing a  slave  of  myself  for  him  and  the  children,  and 
that  he  did  n't  want  so  many  pies  and  puddings,  nor 
so  many  extras  on  the  girl's  dresses,  if  they  were 
going  to  steal  the  roses  from  my  cheeks  (the  flatterer, 
he  knows  tJiey  have  been  gone  these  five  years,  unless 
it  be  yellow  ones),  and  the  comfort  from  my  life. 
I  told  him  I  considered  it  a  privilege  to  be  able  to 
work  for  him  and  the  children,  but  I  wanted  to  keep 
so  that  I  could  be  a  companion  to  them,  and  not  a 
mere  servant.  So  we  have  turned  over  a  new  leaf. 
John  has  always  had  a  week  or  two  of  vacation 


WOULDN'T  MOTHER  CARE  FOR  SUCH  THINGS?     199 

from  his  business  every  year,  and  sometimes  twice 
a  year,  and  I  am  to  have  mine  from  this  on  ;  and  I 
really  believe  I  feel  better  already  from  the  mere 
prospect  of  a  little  change  from  the  old  routine  of  all 
work  and  no  play." 

' '  But  you  would  not  have  mothers  leave  their 
little  ones  and  go  off  on  a  pleasure  trip  every  few 
weeks  or  months?" 

' '  No.  I  fancy  there  are  a  good  many  pleasure 
^tfips  which  -we  might  take  in  our  own  homes  with  our 
children,  if  we  can  not  afford  family  tickets  to  the 
mountains  or  the  city,  as  the  case  may  be.  For  two 
or  three  dollars  invested  in  some  entertaining  book 
of  travels  or  history,  something  that  will  please  as 
well  as  instruct,  a  great  amount  of  real  pleasure  and 
profit  may  be  obtained.  Let  the  children  go  over 
it  together,  the  mother  adding  her  own  knowledge 
of  countries  and  people  to  what  is  in  the  book, 
and  she  will  find  herself  growing  nearer  to  her 
children,  and  they  will  prize  her  more  highly  because 
of  her  sympathy  with  them  and  for  them ;  and,  if  she 
can  now  and  then,  for  a  few  days,  leave  home  be- 
hind and  look  on  new  scenes  and  new  people,  she 
will  be  better  fitted  for  the  task  of  training  her  chil- 
dren, and  she  will  live  longer  and  to  better  purpose 
than  if  she  spent  her  life  in  one  incessant  round  of 
toil,  with  the  one  aim,  '  that  tire  children  have  a  good 
time,'  which  too  often  means  a  selfish  enjoyment  at 
her  expense,  and  I  am  confident  they  will  respect  her 
just  as  much  if  they  are  made  to  feel  that  self-denial 
is  as  necessary  and  commendable  for  them  as  it  is  for 
the  mother.  There,"  tossing  her  work  upon  the  table, 


200  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"that  garment  is  done,  and  so  is  my  lecture,  I  be- 
lieve ;  and  as  I  did  n't  charge  an  admission  fee  nor 
take  up  a  collection,  I  want  to  know  if  you  can  give 
it  a  recommendation?"  and  the  little  woman  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  as  if  her  conscience  was  clear  and 
her  mind  relieved  at  least. 

"Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,  but  I  don't  see  my 
way  clear  yet,"  and  Mrs.  Huston  began  to  fold  up 
her  work  as  she  looked  at  the  clock. 

' '  I  know,  it  is  often  easier  to  state  a  theory  than 
to  put  it  in  practice,"  admitted  Mrs.  Starr,  "and  my 
newly  fledged  ideas  may  need  considerable  guiding  and 
training,  but  those  are  my  notions  about  it  now  ;  but 
next  time  you  come  I  hope  you  will  not  let  me  do 
all  the  talking,"  she  added,  half-playfully,  half-apol- 
ogetically,  as  she  assisted  in  wrapping  baby  Maud 
that  no  breath  of  April  dampness  might  reach  her, 
and  the  friends  said  a  cordial  "  Good  afternoon,"  and 
Mrs.  Huston  went  home  to  think  it  over — and  Mrs. 
Starr  turned  to  her  kitchen  to  suggest  an  extra  dish 
of  fruit  for  the  tea-table. 


l^ATCH-WORK 


HE  children  had   been  looking  over,   and 
commenting  on,   some   new  photographs 
of  old  friends,  and  as  Charlie,  the  eldest  of 
the  group,  closed  the  album,  he  turned  to  Mrs. 
Hammond,    who   sat   near   the   table,   mending 
little  garments,  and  said: 

"Mother,  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  word 
1  album '  ?  We  often  use  it,  but  I  do  n't  know 
whether  I  know  its  real  meaning  or  not.  Does 
it  mean  a  book  for  pictures  only?" 

Mrs.  Hammond   smiled,    as   she  looked  up 
from  her  work,  and  said : 

"You  are  not  the  only  one  who  is  in  the  habit 
of  using  words  whose  meaning  they  but  half  under- 
stand. Our  word  'album'  comes  from  the  Latin 
albus,  signifying  white,  and  among  the  Romans  it 
formerly  meant  a  white  table  or  register,  on  which 
any  thing  was  to  be  inscribed." 

"Then  why  do  we  call  this  a  photograph  album ?" 
asked  Lizzie,  as  she  turned  to  the  book  in  ques- 
tion. 

' '  Because  it  is  a  blank  or  register  where  we  place 
the  faces,  or  pictures,  of  our  friends ;  and  as  we  look 
over  this  register,  as  you  have  been  doing  this  even- 
ing, the  sight  of  the  familiar  faces  calls  up  many 
pleasant  memories." 


202  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"What  about  those  quilts  upstairs?"  asked  Jen- 
nie; "you  call  them  'album  quilts,'  but  there  are  no 
pictures  on  them,  though  I  believe  there  is  something 
written  on  each  block." 

"  Perhaps  you  may  not  be  able  to  trace  out  pic- 
tures on  them,  but  to  me  there  are  many  bright 
faces — and  a  few  sad  ones,  too — that  seem  to  rise  up 
before  me  whenever  I  look  at  those  plain,  faded 
pieces.  If  the  pictures  are  not  on  the  quilts,  they 
are  indelibly  inscribed  on  my  memory." 

"O,  please  tell  us  about  the  persons  whose 
names  are  in  the  center  of  each  block,"  chorused  the 
children,  eagerly. 

"If  I  am  to  tell  you  about  them,  you  must  ask 
Mary  to  bring  the  quilts  down  to  the  sitting-room, 
where  we  can  look  at  the  names  and  pieces  together ; 
though  you  will  not  be  likely  to  find  them  as  inter- 
esting as  I  do,"  answered  the  mother.  • 

The  quilts  were  soon  brought  and  spread  out  upon 
the  table,  and  as  they  grouped  about  it,  the  children 
expressed  their  wonder  in  various  ways: 

"Why,  mother,  what  a  funny  quilt!" 

"Every  block  is  an  odd  one!" 

"No  two  blocks  are  of  the  same  color!" 

"Neither  are  there  two  faces  of  those  whose 
names  are  written  here  exactly  alike.  Each  block  is 
pieced  from  the  remnant  of  some  dress  or  apron  worn 
by  the  person  whose  name  is  in  its  center.  This 
quilt,  joined  with  pink,  was  presented  to  me  by  the 
mothers  of  my  Sunday-school  class  of  little  folks, 
years  ago,  and  is  pieced  from  scraps  of  their  chil- 
dren's aprons,  dresses,  and  blouse-waists,  and  I  love 


THE  PATCH-WORK  ALBUM.  203 

to  think  that,  while  these  bits  of  calico  and  gingham 
are  growing  old  and  faded,  those  little  boys  and  girls 
are  budding  and  blooming  into  a  beautiful  manhood 
and  womanhood.  Here  are  the  names  of  two  little 

brothers,  Frank  and  Willie  J ;  sweet  little  fellows, 

with  bright  eyes  and  eager  questions.  The  little  one 
was,  no  doubt,  the  means  of  bringing  his  father  and 
mother  to  Christ.  One  night,  after  he  had  said  his 
evening  prayer,  and  was  about  to  kiss  his  mother  good- 
Vitght,  he  looked  up  into  her  face  and  asked:  'Mamma, 
why  do  n't  you  and  papa  pray  to  God  too?  are  you 
too  old  to  pray?'  What  answer  the  mother  made  I 
can  not  say,  but  the  question  served  to  awaken  the 
parents  to  a  sense  of  their  need  of  prayer.  Shortly 
after,  they  gave  their  hearts  into  the  keeping  of  that 
Father  in  whose  sight  we  are  all  but  children.  The 
little  calico  waist  was  long  ago  laid  aside  or  worn 
out,  and,  if  the  boys  are  still  living,  I  presume  they 
have  forgotten  all  about  the  circumstance,  but  I 
trust  they  have  not  grown  top  old  to  pray.  This 

one,  marked  'Dottie  W , '  we  used  to  call  'Dottie 

Dimple,'  as  a  pet  name;  she  has  probably  outgrown 
the  name,  but  I  hope  she  has  not  outgrown  the 
sweet,  innocent  ways,  even  though  the  dimples  may 
not  remain.  This  brown-and-white,  with  the  name 

F.  M ,  is  for  a  little,  timid,  trembling  child,  whose 

very  look  was  more  like  a  frightened  fawn  than  any 
thing  else.  I  never  saw  a  child  of  her  years  so  far 
from  doing  wrong ;  in  fact,  I  do  not  think  I  ever 
knew  her  to  do  a  positively  naughty  thing  during 
the  two  years  that  she  was  in  my  class,  in  the  public 
school  and  in  the  Sabbath-school." 


204  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"O  mother,  I  hope  all  these  children  were  not 
as  good  as  those  you  have  told  us  about ;  it  sounds 
like  the  children  in  books,"  interrupted  Lizzie. 

' '  No,  they  were  not  all  good,  and  those  who  were 
called  good  were  not  always  good ;  but  I  have  only 
shown  you  the  good  or  bright  side  of  their  charac- 
ters. This  pink-and-white,  marked  Nettie  Black,  was 
for  a  little  pink  and  white  girl,  whose  name,  you  see, 
was  not  White ;  I  hope  she  has  not  grown  up  as  an 
illustration  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  'Pink  and  White  Tyr- 
anny.' This  brown-and-white  gingham  represents 
Miss  Pink-and-White's  brother,  whose  ways  and  com- 
plexion were  in  as  strong  contrast  to  his  sister's  as 
are  the  colors  in  the  two  blocks  of  patch-work." 

"And  here  is  one  with  'Baby  Ailing'  marked  in 
the  center.  Was  that  the  real  name?" 

"Yes,  Jennie,  that  was  all  the  name  he  could 
claim  then.  As  there  were  three  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, besides  father  and  mother,  to  be  suited  with 
the  name,  it  was  some  time  before  the  name  was 
finally  agreed  upon.  But,  dear  little  'Baby,'  he  did 
not  need  an  earthly  name  long,  for  he  was  called  to 
his  heavenly  home  before  he  had  reached  his  fifth 
year." 

"What  about  these  marked  C and  G , 

mother?" 

"These  were  pieced  by  the  fingers  of  two  sisters 
who  were  too  large  to  be  in  my  class  of  little  ones, 
but  who  were  favorites  of  Charlie's — who  was  only  a 
'baby'  then,  although  he  was  three  years  old.  They 
were  as  frisky  as  two  kittens,  and  quite  as  mischiev- 
ous. But  we  have  talked  long  enough,  and  there  is 


THE  PATCH  WORK  ALBUM.  205 

more  than  one  pair  of  eyes  that  want  to  say  'good- 
night,' even  if  their  owners  do  not." 

"Well,"  said  Charlie,  with  a  wistful  look  at  the 
quilt,  as  it  was  refolded;  "I  didn't  suppose  there 
could  be  so  much  of  a  story  in  that  faded,  odd-look- 
ing quilt." 

' '  O  mother,  there  were  more  than  a  dozen  names 
that  you  did  not  tell  us  about,  besides  the  quilt  with 
ladies'  names  upon,"  and  the  younger  children  joined 
with  Lizzie  in  pleading  to  hear  more. 

"It  is  too  late,  and  you  would  grow  tired  before 
I  had  gone  over  half  the  names,  for  I  should  never 
know  when  to  stop,  if  I  should  once  begin  to  talk 
of  them.  I  can  only  say  that  the  memories  I  have 
of  those  dear  sisters  and  their  families  are  very  pleas- 
ant, and  I  feel  grateful  to  the  Giver  of  all  good  for 
the  many  pleasant  associations  that  I  was  permitted 
to  enjoy  during  our  two  years'  -stay  in  the  little  vil- 
lage. But  you  really  must  say  'good-night,'  now, 
or  we  shall  hear  of  some  little  folks  having  a  very 
sleepy  time  over  their  lessons  to-morrow,  and  per- 
haps get  'zero'  opposite  their  names." 


,  OR  OTHERS? 


SUPPOSE  you  are  looking  forward  quite 
anxiously  to  '  Commencement  Day,'  "  said 
Mrs.  Spencer  to  her  niece,  as  she  came 
into  her  room,  on  her  return  from  school,  one 
i       afternoon  in  May.     Mrs.  Spencer  was  spending 

a  few  days  with  her  brother's  family  in  M , 

where  he  had  settled  some  half  dozen  years  pre- 
viously, in  order  that  his  children  might  have 
the  advantage  of  a  college  without  going  away 
from  home. 

"Yes;  I  shall  be  through  my  four  years' 
course  in  about  six  weeks,  and  I  shall  be  so 
glad!"  and  Fannie  sat  down  in  the  easy-chair  by  an 
open  window,  giving  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  over  the 
prospect  of  soon  being  free  from  the  requirements 
of  school. 

"You  are  anticipating  a  great  deal  of  pleasure 
when  school-days  are  over  ?"  questioned  Mrs.  Spencer, 
pleasantly. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  it  will  be  so  pleasant.  No  lessons 
to  study,  nor  rules  to  obey." 

"  But  what  do  you  propose  to  do  when  you  come 
into  possession  of  this  boon  of  liberty  from  which  you 
anticipate  so  much?" 

"  O,  I  haven't  decided  yet.  I  think  it  will  be 
delightful  to  do  just  nothing  at  all  for  a  few  days. 


SELF,  OR  OTHERS?  207 

Why,  auntie,  I  am  twenty  years  old,  and  for  the  past 
ten  years  it  has  been  nothing  but  books  all  the  time, 
from  morning  to  night,  from  one  year  to  another. 
As  soon  as  one  lesson  was  finished  I  had  to  take  up 
another.  When  I  get  my  diploma,  I  intend  to  make 
up  for  it  by  having  a  good  time  for  a  little  while." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  will  have  a  good  many 
lessons  to  learn  even  after  you  get  your  diploma ; 
and  as  to  obeying  rules,  I  think  you  will  find  it  as 
difficult  to  please  yourself  as  any  of  your  teachers 
and  preceptors,  especially  if  you  start  out  with  the 
idea  of  living  for  your  own  pleasure,  without  refer- 
ence to  the  wishes  or  the  happiness  of  others." 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  but  it  always  seemed  as 
if  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  one's  own 
way." 

"Very  likely;  but  it  seems  to  me  there  are  other 
ways  of  enjoyment  quite  as  commendable.  How 
about  your  mother  ?  Is  n't  she  a  little  overtaxed 
sometimes?" 

"  I  do  n't  know,  I  am  sure.  I  have  been  so  busy 
with  my  studies  that  I  have  not  noticed.  She  never 
complains." 

"No;  she  is  not  one  of  the  complaining  sort. 
But  it  seems  to  me  she  has  her  hands  and  heart 
pretty  well  filled.  I  presume  Miss  Williams  will 
make  your  graduating  suit?" 

"No;  mamma  will  make  it  herself." 

"  How  is  that?  I  thought  Miss  Williams  usually 
did  your  dress-making." 

"So  she  does,  usually;  but  the  girls  are  all  going 
to  dress  so  nicely,  and,  of  course,  I  do  n't  want  to 


2o8  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

wear  a  cheap  thing ;  and  the  material  has  cost  so 
much  that  mamma  says  she  can  not  afford  to  hire  it 
made  these  hard  times,  and  so  she  will  make  it 
herself." 

"  I  believe  you  told  me  your  friends,  the  Misses 

M ,  were  coming  to  spend  the  Summer  with  you. 

If  your  mother  feels  that  she  can  not  afford  to  hire 
extra  help  in  the  house,  it  will  make  more  work 
for  her." 

"  Yes;  I  know  it  will,  and  extra  expense  besides. 
But  mamma  is  very  anxious  for  them  to  come.  They 
are  very  intelligent,  and  she  thinks  it  pays  to  enter- 
tain intelligent  and  refined  people.  I  expect  to  gain 
a  great  benefit  from  their  society." 

"But  somebody  must  do  extra  work  while  they 
stay ;  and  if  your  mother  feels  that  she  can  not  afford 
to  employ  an  extra  girl,  it  will  make  the  work  heavier 
for  her,  will  it  not?" 

"Yes;  I  should  suppose  so.  But,  auntie,  why 
do  you  ask  so  many  questions?  I  never  knew  you 
to  be  so  inquisitive  before."  And  Fannie  looked 
into  Mrs.  Spencer's  serious  face  as  if  she  half  believed 
she  was  being  teased,  without  comprehending  it. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  impertinent,  my  dear;  but 
I  can  not  help  thinking  it  would  be  a  good  plan  if 
you  could  lighten  your  mother's  burdens  by  helping 
bear  them." 

"But  mother  enjoys  company  as  much  as  I  do." 

"No  doubt  of  it ;  but  possibly  it  may  be  as  much 
on  your  account  as  for  her  own  pleasure.  You  have 
been  busy  with  your  school-books  during  the  past 
few  years,  and  your  mother  has  been  equally  busy 


SELF,  OR  OTHERS?  20^ 

with  home-cares  and  duties.  Suppose,  when  you 
have  graduated,  that  you  offer  to  form  a  partnership 
with  'mother,'  and  relieve  her  of  a  portion  of  her 
labor  and  care,  giving  her  rest  while  you  are  gaining 
a  knowledge  of  household  duties,  that  can  never  be 
properly  understood  except  by  actual  practice,  and 
some  of  which  will  require  as  much  'brain'  as  the 
scientific  studies  you  have  been  trying ;  to  master. 
And,  then,  would  it  not  be  a  pleasant  surprise  for 
ymi  to  give  her  your  place  in  the  carriage  occasion- 
ally, when  some  delightful  excursion  to  the  country 
is  to  be  enjoyed,  while  you  remain  at  home  to  care 
for  the  little  ones,  who  are  such  a  constant  tax  on 
her  strength  and  patience  ?" 

"  I  guess  it  would  be  a  surprise!"  and  Miss  Fan- 
nie looked  as  if  the  suggestion  was  a  very  great  sur- 
prise to  herself.  "She  will  either  think  I  am  insane 
or  that  I  have  suddenly  grown  '  too  good  for  this 
world.'  But,"  more  soberly,  "auntie,  do  you  really 
think  me  very  selfish?" 

"Not  more  so  than  most  young  girls  of  your 
age.  Perhaps  '  thoughtless  '  would  express  it  in  your 
case.  But  loving  mothers  are  apt  to  screen  their 
daughters  as  much  as  possible,  taking  all  the  care 
and  responsibility  upon  themselves,  until,  finally,  the 
daughters  come  to  look  upon  theit;  mother's  careworn 
face  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  if  any  thing  is  said 
about  it,  the  usual  reply  is,  '  Mother  could  n't  be 
happy  if  she  was  n't  hard  at  work."  " 

"O,  auntie,  I  am  not  so  bad  as  that!"  and  Fan- 
nie's  face  reddened  at  the  imputation. 

"  I  do  not  mean  that  you  have  come  to  that  yet, 
18 


210  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

nor  that  you  do  not  love  your  mother  very  dearly; 
but  do  not  forget,  dear,  that  your  mother  is  just  as 
capable  of  enjoying  and  appreciating  little,  unex- 
pected kindnesses  or  pleasures  as  you  are,  though 
she  may  be  forty  and  you  only  twenty  years  of  age. 
I  did  not  intend  saying  theseft  things  when  we  began 
our  little  talk,  and  you  must  forgive  me  if  I  have 
said  any  thing  that  sounded  unkind  or  harsh  ;  for  I 
have  said  it  for  your  own  good,  knowing  that  when 
you  have  to  be  separated  from  that  mother,  it  will 
be  a  sweet  memory  if  you  can  look  back  over  your 
home-life  and  say,  '  I  did  all  I  could  to  make  her  life 
pleasant  and  happy. '  " 

"I  am  not  offended,  auntie,  dear;  but  I  did  not 
know  how  selfish  I  was  until  you  have  shown  me.  I 
am  ready  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  to  try  to  make 
things  easier  for  her ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  am  but  poorly 
prepared  for  any  thing  like  usefulness  at  home." 

And  real  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  the  young 
girl  looked  back  over  the  past  year  and  saw  where 
she  might  have  lightened  her  mother's  cares  and 
labor  if  she  had  only  tried. 

"If  you  are  only  willing,  you  can  soon  learn  to 
do  things  that  seem  awkward  and  difficult  at  first; 
and  if  you  can  keep  your  mother's  heart  and  face 
free  from  unnecessary  care  for  ten  years  longer  by 
these  little  acts  of  self  denial,  I  am  sure  you  will -not 
regret  it." 


ND    so    you    propose    to    give    Esther  a 
business   education?"    interrogated    Mrs. 
Henry,    in  reply  to  a   statement  of  her 
friend,  Mrs.  Burrell. 

"Yes,  a  very  practical  one,   too,    I   hope," 
was  the  response. 

"But  I  do  not  see  where  she  will  find  time 
for  so  many  studies.  rBy  the  time  she  has  com- 
pleted French,  and  takes  a  thorough  course  in 
music  and  painting,  I  think  she  will  have  but 
little  time  left  for  a  course  in  a  business  college, 
unless  she  intends  to  devote  herself  to  the  life 
of  an  old  maid." 

"Old  maids  are  not  the  most  unhappy  people  in 
the  world,  and  Esther  might  possibly  do  worse  than 
to  live  and  die  one,"  quietly  responded  Mrs.  Burrell. 
"But  I  do  not  know  that  our  means  will  permit  us 
to  give  her  all  the  advantages  you  mention  ;  but  if 
any  must  be  struck  off  the  list,  I  think  it  will  not  be 
the  business  part,  although  she  may  never  see  the 
inside  of  a  business  college.  There  are  a  great  many 
things  to  be  learned  that  are  not  found  in  college 
curriculums.  I  think  Esther  \Vill  make  a  practical 
woman  if  she  has  the  opportunity,  and  if  I  have  my 
way  she  will  have  such  instruction  as  will  fit  her  for 
taking  care  of  herself." 


212  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"I  did  not  know  that  Esther  had  manifested  any 
special  talent  or  taste  for  'business,'  as  you  call.it," 
replied  Mrs.  Henry. 

"Neither  has  she  manifested  any  special  talent 
for  French  or  music;  but  that  is  not  urged  as  an 
objection  to  her  studying  these  branches,  and  if  she 
should  happen  to  have  a  little  less  French  and  a  little 
more  practical  English,  I  shall  be  just  as  proud  of 
her,  and  I  have  a  fancy  that  she  will  be  just  as 
happy  and  as  much  respected,"  answered  Mrs.  Bur- 
rell  earnestly. 

"  Really  you  are  quite  progressive  in  your  ideas. 
I  was  not  aware  that  you  entertained  such  advanced 
notions,"  Mrs.  Henry  said,  half  smiling  at  her  friend's 
enthusiasm.  "  I  was  not  surprised  when  I  under- 
stood that  you  and  Mr.  Burrell  had  decided  that  your 
three  boys  should  each  learn  a  trade  before  choosing 
a  profession,  but  I  did  not  suppose  you  would  insist 
that  your  only  daughter  should  pursue  the  course  of 
study  you  indicate.  It  seems  out  of  place  for  one  in 
her  position." 

"  I  do  not  consider  it  as  out  of  place  at  present, 
and  the  time  may  come  when  it  will  be  very  much 
in  place.  The  education  that  merely  serves  as  polish 
is  all  well  enough,  but  something  more  is  needed  if 
a  woman  desires  to  fill  her  place  in  life  as  a  reason- 
able and  reasoning  being. 

"Esther  is  but  sixteen,  and  is  quite  proficient  in 
her  studies  so  far  as  her  text-books  are  concerned; 
but  I  would  like  for  her  tt>  be  able  to  make  a  prac- 
tical application  of  the  knowledge  acquired.  To  give 
her  a  little  insight  into  every-day  costs  and  expend- 


HELPLESS  WOMEN.  213 

itures,  I  have  intrusted  the  family  accounts  for  the 
year  to  her  keeping,  and  she  is  delighted  with  it, 
although  it  did  seem  a  little  tiresome  at  first.  Now, 
every  item  of  expense  is  placed  upon  the  book,  and 
carefully  footed  up  monthly  and  quarterly.  She  has 
discovered  that  it  costs  something  to  keep  up  the 
various  necessities  as  well  as  the  luxuries  of  a  family 
of  seven,  and  it  is  quite  amusing  sometimes  to  hear 
her  talking  of  the  family  expenses,  and  planning 
Ii6w  they  may  be  reduced.  The  first  month  showed 
rather  a  large  bill  for  Esther  herself,  and  she  came 
to  me  with  rather  a  sober  face  and  asked,  '  Mamma, 
.  do  I  cost  that  much  every  month  ?'  I  told  her  I 
guessed  so,  and  sometimes  a  little  more.  She  looked 
more  thoughtful  than  before,  and  said,  '  I  wonder  you 
and  papa  are  not  provoked  at  my  extravagance.'  I 
tried  to  laugh  it  off,  and  told  her  she  was  worth  all  she 
cost  us,  and  more  too.  She  kissed  me,  and  said,  '  I'm 
glad  you  think  so ;  but  I  '11  see  if  I  can  not  manage 
to  be  less  expensive  after  this;' and  she  has  succeeded 
thus  far,  even  resisting  my  efforts  to  tempt  her  into 
a  little  extravagance.  Each  month  her  books  are 
brought  to  her  father  and  me,  for  our  inspection,  and 
she  is  learning  some  valuable  lessons  in  the  cost  of 
living,  and  begins  to  see  very  good  reasons  for  our 
denying  her  and  her  brothers  many  things  that  she 
would  have  considered  almost  indispensable  a  year 
ago.  When  our  bills  are  less  than  usual  she,  seems 
to  take  pride  in  the  fact.," 

"Why,  my  dear!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Henry,  "I 
am  afraid  you  are  training  Esther  to  be  a  perfect 
miser.  The  idea  of  that  child  measuring  the  expenses 


214  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

of  the  family.      I  fear  she  will  be  a  stingy,  penurious 
woman  in  after  years." 

' '  I  hope  not.  I  only  want  her  to  be  a  careful 
one.  If  she  learns  a  little  about  the  cost  of  living 
now,  if  ever  she  has  a  home  of  her  own,  her  knowl- 
edge may  prevent  her  bringing  her  husband  to  finan 
cial  ruin  through  her  ignorant  extravagance;  for  nine- 
tenths  of  the  extravagance  among  women  comes 
from  ignorance  and  not  real  indifference  as  to  the  cost 
of  their  luxuries." 

"But  what  put  these  ideas  into  your  head  so 
strongly  of.  late?"  inquired  her  friend. 

"It  is  not  a  late  thing,  really,  but  my  attention 
has  been  called  to  the  subject  with  more  than  usual 
force  by  what  I  have  seen  of  the  inconvenience  and 
real  suffering  of  women  through  the  lack  of  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  every-day  business  affairs  of  life.  A 
neighbor  of  mine  has  recently  buried  her  husband, 
and  aside  from  her  grief  at  the  loss  of  her  compan- 
ion, her  helplessness,  so  far  as  business  matters  are 
concerned,  is  pitiful  to  see.  With  a  woman's  confi- 
dence in  her  husband's  judgment,  she  has  always  left 
every  thing,  except  the  actual  care  of  the  house  and 
the  children,  in  his  hands,  and  while  she  is  consid- 
ered an  excellent  housekeeper  and  cook,  and  her 
bread  and  cakes  are  the  envy  of  a  good  many  of  her 
neighbors,  she  told  me  she  could  not  tell  the  price 
of  a  pound  of  sugar  or  butter  or  of  a  hundred  weight 
of  flour.  And  as  to  property,  personal  or  real  estate, 
she  has  no  idea  of  its  value.  In  bewailing  her  igno- 
rance of  these  things,  she  said  to  me,  '  My  husband 
always  told  me  to  get  what  I  needed,  and  he  would 


HELPLESS  WOMEN.  215 

settle  the  bill,  and  I  need  not  trouble  myself  about  his 
affairs.  If  he  paid  the  bills  that  was  all  I  need  care 
about  it;  women  could  n't  understand  business.  I  sup- 
pose he  thought  it  was  best,  but  I  begin  to  see  that  it 
was  a  sad  mistake.'  This  woman,  left  with  a  family 
of  five  children,  herself  utterly  ignorant  of  every 
business  form,  uncertain  as  to  whether  a  single  step 
she  took  in  the  settlement  of  her  husband's  affairs, 
was  legal,  felt  that  she  was  at  the  mercy  of  those 
who"  had  it  in  their  power  to  deprive  her  and  her 
little  ones  of  the  remnant  of  property  left  them  by 
the  husband  and  father.  And  this  is  only  one  of 
scores  of  similar  cases  that  have  come  under  my  own 
observation,  and  I  am  determined  that  my  daughter 
shall  have  such  a  knowledge  of  business  that  she  will 
not  be  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  unscrupulous 
sharpers.  I  shall  always  feel  thankful  to  my  father 
for  the  practical  business  lessons  which  he  gave  me. 
Himself  a  careful  man,  never  going  beyond  his 
income,  he  often  took  me  into  his  office  that  I  might 
assist  him  in  making  out  his  quarterly  reports;  and 
while  I  was  assisting  him  in  comparing  the  books,  he 
gave  me,  without  my  being  conscious  of  it,  an  insight 
into  practical  every-day  business." 

"But  was  it  not  irksome  to  you,  a  young  girl,  to 
sit  for  hours  adding  up  long  columns  of  figures  which 
meant  nothing  to  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Henry. 

"I  do  not  remember  of  ever  tiring,  for  I  was 
proud  to  feel  that  I  was  helping  my  father,  though  I 
can  see  now  that  the  work  was  given  me  more  for 
my  own  sake  than  for  any  real  help  which  I  gave. 
But  those  columns  were  not  mere  dry  figures  to  me. 


2i6  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

I  knew  what  every  unit  represented,  and  sometimes 
I  took  special  delight  in  the  success  of  men  who 
made  purchases  of  small  tracts  of  land,  for  my  father 
was  agent  for  men  who  were  known  in  those  days  as 
Eastern  land  speculators.  That  Is,  they  had  bought 
up  large  tracts  of  land  at  Congress  prices  years  before, 
and  then  sold  it  '  on  time  '  in  small  tracts  to  suit  pur- 
chasers, they  giving  their  notes,  payable  in  one,  two, 
and  three  years,  sometimes  five  years,  while  the 
seller  gave  a  bond  for  a  deed  when  the  notes  were 
paid  off.  No,  I  did  not  think  it  dull  work,  for  I 
always  enjoyed  doing  such  work,  whether  it  was 
counting  up  interest  on  '  partial  payments '  or  meas- 
uring a  'corn  pen  '  and  calculating  its  contents.  Hus- 
bands and  fathers  make  a  mistake  when  they  try  to 
keep  wife  or  daughter  ignorant  of  their  business,  under 
the  notion  that  they  are  shielding  them  from  care 
and  responsibility.  Better  let  them  share  the  care 
and  responsibility  while  there  is  some  one  to  assist 
and  explain,  than  to  let  it  come  upon  them  suddenly 
and  at  a  time  of  life  when  cares  and  responsibilities 
are  apt  to  be 'burdensome. 

"A  true  wife  will  want  to  know  something  of  that 
which  concerns  not  only  her  husband's,  but  her  own 
and  her  children's,  temporal  welfare,  and  it  is  much 
better  for  her  to  know  their  financial  standing  and  so 
be  able  to  regulate  their  expenses  accordingly,  than 
to  indulge  in  luxuries  that  they  can  ill  afford  until 
bankruptcy  ends  it  all,  or  the  death  of  her  husband 
leaves  her  an  ignorant,  helpless  woman,  needing  a 
guardian  as  much  as  the  babe  in  her  arms." 

"Really,    my    dear,    you    are    quite    eloquent," 


HELPLESS  WOMEN.  217 

laughed    Mrs.    Henry.      "  With  a   little  practice  you 
will  make  a  capital  lecturer  on  woman's  rights." 

"I  never  made  a  woman's  right's  speech  in  my 
life,  and  never  expect  to.  I  am  only  urging  what 
seems  to  me  a  necessity,  not  for  the  woman's  sake 
alone,  but  for  the  better  protection  of  her  children, 
sons  as  wells  as  daughters.  And  as  example  is  said 
to  be  more  potent  than  precept,  I  intend  to  give  my 
own  daughter  the  training  that  will  .enable  her  to  take 
car-e-  of  herself,  and  a  husband,  too,  if  necessary,  and 
I  confess  I  am  a  little  anxious  to  demonstrate  my 
theory." 

19 


IT  A  MHANKSGIYING? 


HE  Thanksgiving  sermon  had  ended,  the 
collection  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  had 
been  taken,   the  closing  prayer  offered,  the 
1  choir  had  sung 

"  Praise  waiteth  for  thee,  O  God,  in  Zion," 
and  the  congregation  Jiad  united  its  voice  with 
the  choir  in 

"Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow;" 
the  benediction  had  been  pronounced,  and  the 
people  came  forth  from  the  temple,  each  going 
their  respective  way — some  to  dine  with  friends 
and  relatives ;  others,  perhaps,  to  meet  again  on  the 
next  annual  Thanksgiving,  and  perhaps  not.  But 
there  was  one  of  the  congregation — or,  rather,  of 
the  choir — Louise  Harmon,  a  girl  of  twenty  years, 
who  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  join  the  crowd  that 
pressed  toward  the  door ;  she  stood  on  the  steps  of 
the  orchestra,  with  hymnal  and  anthem  book  on  her 
arm,  while,  with  thoughtful  face,-  she  watched  the 
crowd  as  it  passed  in  procession  before  her. 

Bowing  occasionally,  with  a  sort  of  dreamy  greet- 
ing, to  some  acquaintance  or  friend,  she  listened  tq 
the  broken  fragments  of  conversation  which  came  to 
her  ears  as  the  speakers  drew  near  the  door,  their 
faces  and  words  alike  being  lost  in  the  mingled  noise 
and  bustle  outside. 


WAS  IT  A  THANKSGIVING?  219 

The  congregation  had  gone,  and  Louise  suddenly 
remembered  that  the  sexton  would  want  to  close 
the  church,  and  go  home  to  his  family  and  Thanks- 
giving dinner,  whether  that  dinner  was  to  be  turkey 
stuffed  with  oysters  or  only  a  plain  dinner  with  an 
extra  pudding  or  pie  gotten  up  in  honor  of  the  day. 
Drawing  her  wrappings  more  closely  about  her  throat, 
and  adjusting  her  veil  so  as  more  effectually  to  shut 
off  the  sharpness  of  the  north  wind,  and  with  a  hasty 
notTto  the  sexton,  who  stood  holding  the  door  for 
her  to  pass  out,  she  stepped  from  the  church  into  the 
street. 

A  faint  smile  passed  over  her  face,  and  ended  in 
a  curl  of  the  lips  and  ^a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as 
she  saw  the  street  was  almost  empty  of  life,  and  that 
she  must  walk  home  alone ;  that,  however,  did  not 
matter  particularly  so  far  as  the  walk,  so  much  as  the 
idea  of  being  forgotten  by  others. 

"At  any  rate,  mot/ter  has  not  forgotten  me,  I  am 
sure,"  she  said,  half  aloud  ;  and  the  words  seemed  to 
dispel  the  unpleasant  thoughts,  if  such  they  were, 
and,  with  resolute  step,  she  hastened  homeward. 

Mrs.  Harmon  was  an  invalid,  and  had  remained 
at  home  because  she  was  too  feeble  to  walk  so  far, 
and  their  straitened  circumstances  would  not  permit 
them  to  keep  a  carriage. 

When  her  daughter  entered  the  room,  the  mother 
expressed  surprise  that  she  should  be  so  late  in  re- 
turning. 

"  O,  I  was  so  busy  watching  the  people,  and  lis- 
tening to  their  comments  upon  the  sermon  and  upon 
each  other,  that  I  almost  forgot  to  come  home ;  and 


220  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

it  is  lucky  for  me,  and  you  too,  that  I  am  here  now, 
instead  of  being  locked  up  in  that  old  church.  But 
I  am  here,  you  see,  and  we  will  have  our  dinner,  pro- 
vided Ann  has  not  gone  to  sleep  over  her  beads." 

Mrs.  Harmon  looked  up  in  pained  surprise,  more 
at  her  daughter's  tone  than  the  words,  and  said,  in 
gentle  reproof,  "Louise,  dear,  we  must  not  be  cross 
to-day." 

"No,  mother,  I  am  not  cross;  I  am  only  think- 
ing." 

And,  stooping,  she  kissed  the  fair  brow,  and  then, 
drawing  back,  she  smoothed  the  silvery  hair  that  was 
fading  prematurely  ;  then,  looking  lovingly  a  moment 
into  the  sweet,  patient  face,  she  left  the  room,  to  su- 
perintend the  dinner,  which  she  considered  too  im- 
portant to  be  left  to  Ann's  somewhat  blundering 
hands. 

Mrs.  Harmon  was  a  widow,  dependent  on  her 
daughter's  small  salary  for  her  support,  and  to-day 
her  dinner  would  not  be  a  very  extravagant  affair, 
only  roast  chicken,  instead  of  turkey;  but  there  were 
vegetables  and  pies — mince  and  pumpkin — and  dough- 
nuts, for  Mrs.  Harmon  was  a  New  England  woman, 
and  if  the  three  last-mentioned  articles  had  been 
wanting  she  would  hardly  have  considered  her  dinner 
orthodox. 

A  neighbor,  who  was  also  a  widow,  with  her  two 
daughters,  were  the  only  guests,  and  the  afternoon 
passed  very  quietly,  though  cheerfully,  for  Mrs.  Har- 
mon had  learned  the  art  of  being  contented  with 
little,  and  to  make  others  equally  so. 

When  their  guests  had  said  their  good-byes,  Lou- 


WAS  IT  A  THANKSGIVING?  221 

ise  and  her  mother  were  left  alone  in  the  twilight  of 
their  little  sitting  room,  and  drawing  a  stool  to  her 
mother's  side?  she  seated  herself  upon  it,  and  rest- 
ino-  her  head  on  the  mother's  knee,  while  she  drew 

t> 

the  slender  hand  to  her,  and  gently  pressed  it  to  her 
lips. 

For  some  minutes  the  two  sat  in  silence,  Mrs. 
Harmon,  with  her  disengaged  hand,  quietly  stroking 
the  soft,  wavy  tresses  of  her  daughter's  hair,  which 
had  been  allowed  to  drop  from  the  bands  that  had 
confined  it. 

There  was  a  perfect  understanding  between  the 
two,  and  a  bond  -of  sympathy  that  drew  mother  and 
daughter  very  near  together.  While  Mrs.  Harmon's 
ill  health  made  her  dependent  upon  her  daughter  for 
food  and  raiment,  Louise,  in  turn,-  leaned  upon  her 
mother  for  counsel  and  encouragement,  as  well  as 
instruction  in  temporal  and  spiritual  things. 

To-night  Mrs.  Harmon  knew,  intuitively,  as  it 
were,  that  her  daughter's  mind  was  disturbed  with 
some  sort  of  perplexing  thoughts  and  questions.  As 
to  what  they  were  she  could  only  guess,  but  she  felt 
sure  that  before  Louise  said  ''good-night"  she  would 
unburden  her  heart. 

Presently  the  silence  was  broken  with:  "  Mother, 
why  will  our  thoughts  run  just  where  we  do  not 
want  them  to?" 

"  Wiser  heads  than  yours  have  been  puzzled  over 
the  same  pro.blem,  daughter;  but  why  do  you  ask 
the  question?  Have  your  thoughts  been  running  wild 
to-day?"  and  the  mother  stroked  the  pure  white  brow 
of  her  child  very  tenderly. 


222  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"Yes,  in  spite  of  me.  I  was  so  tired  last  night, 
and  I  thought  I  would  enjoy  this  holiday  so  much, 
and  I  said,  '  To-morrow  will  be  a  day  of  real  thanks- 
giving and  rest.'  This  morning  I  asked  God  to  give 
me  grace  to  be  contented  with  my  lot,  and  to  enable 
me  to  be  thankful  for  all  his  goodness  to  me;  and 
when  I  went  to  Church  to-day,  and  joined  in  the  sing- 
ing and  listened  to  the  prayer,  I  thought  I  was  thank- 
ful, and  I  am  sure  I  tried  to  be  so;  but  while  the 
minister  was  recounting  our  many  blessings  and  mer- 
cies, as  a  nation  and  as  individuals,  I  found  myself 
murmuring  because  you  could  not  be  at  Church  to- 
day and  on  other  days;  and  when  I  saw  Mrs.  Worth 
and  Mrs.  Lewis  in  silks  and  costly  furs,  and  knew 
their  carriages  were  in  waiting  to  take  them  to  grand 
houses  and  loaded  tables,  I  thought  of  you,  com- 
pelled to  stay  at  home  and  put  up  with  the  poor  pro- 
vision that  I  can  make  for  your  comfort.  I  am  afraid 
that  there  was  not  much  of  the  true  thanksgiving 
spirit  in  my  prayers  after  that.  And  then,  after  all 
was  over,  and  I  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  orchestra, 
and  heard  the  various  comments  on  the  sermon — its 
substance  and  delivery — I  could  not  help  wondering 
why  people  who  do  not  care  for  or  appreciate  their 
privileges  should  have  favors  heaped  upon  them, 
while  those  who  would  enjoy  and  be  grateful  for  them 
should  be  denied  constantly.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am 
tired,  and  perplexed,  and  disappointed,"  and,  with  a 
little  sigh,  Louise  turnetl  her  head  and  laid  her  cheek 
against  the  palm  of  her  mother's  hand. 

Mrs.  Harmon  made  no  comment  upon  her  daugh- 
ter's confession,  but  sat  quietly,  as  if  waiting  for  it 


WAS  IT  A  THANKSGIVING?  223 

to  be  continued.  Presently  Louise  asked,  "Are  you 
angry  with  me,  mother?" 

"  No,  dear,  not  angry;  only  a  little  disappointed," 
was  answered,  gently. 

Louise  started  at  the-  echo  of  her  own  words. 

4 '  Mother,  dear,  tell  me  what  is  wrong.  Where 
was  my  mistake  ?  I  wanted,  this  to  be  a  real  Thanks- 
giving, and  it  was  not.  Was  it  my  fault  ?" 

''Yes,  my  child,  I  think  it  was.  But  are  you 
wiilthg  that  we  should  go  back  and  review  the  day 
together  ?" 

"O  yes,  if  it  will  help  me  out  of  my  trouble." 

"Well,  then,  to  begin:  you  asked  God  to  give 
you  grace  to  enable  you  to  be  content  with  your  lot. 
When  we  have  to  ask  for  grace  to  be  content,  it  is 
because  we  feel  the  spirit  of  unrest  disturbing  us. 
We  are  not  quite  thankful  to  God  for  his  mercies. 
The  thankful  heart  is  content.  Do  you  understand, 
dear,  what  I  mean?" 

"Yes,"  in  a  low  voice. 

' '  You  say  you  '  thought  you  were  thankful,  and 
you  are  sure  you  tried  to  be  so.'  When  we  are 
really  thankful  for  a  favor,  it  does  not  require  an 
effort." 

"But  can  we  not  be  more  thankful  by  trying?" 

"  My  child,  did  you  ever  try  to  love  your  mother?" 

Louise  drew  a  little  closer,  and  a  tear  fell  on  Mrs. 
Harmon's  hand. 

"O  no,  mother;  I  can  not  help  loving  you." 

"  And  so  it  should  be  with  our  feelings  toward 
our  heavenly  Father.  If  we  fully  appreciate  the  gifts 
which  he  bestows  so  liberally,  even  though  he  may 


224  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

withhold  some  things  which  we  desire,  yet  his  tender 
mercies  and  his  loving  kindness  are  so  great  we 
should  find  our  hearts  swelling  with  gratitude  ;  and 
instead  of  praying  for  grace  to  be  thankful  or  trying 
to  be  content,  we  would  find  ourselves  inquiring,  as  did 
David,  '  What  shall  I  render  unto  the  Lord  for  all 
his  benefits  toward  me  ?'  I  do  not  wish  to  reprove 
or  find  fault  with  you.  my  daughter ;  but  if  this  day, 
and  every  other  day,  is  not  one  of  thanksgiving  and 
praise,  it  is  because  our  selfish  hearts  are  longing  for 
that  which  our  heavenly  Father  does  not  see  best  for 
us  to  have  ;  and  in  sighing  for  what  we  have  not,  we 
fail  to  be  thankful  for  present  blessings.  While  it  is 
right  to  ask  for  what  we  think  we  need,  it  is  also 
good  to  praise  him  for  what  we  already  have." 

Louise  withdrew  her  hand  from  that  of  her 
mother,  and,  rising  from  her  low  seat,  very  quietly 
lit  the  lamp,  and  placed  it  on  the  table  by  her  moth- 
er's side ;  then,  laying  the  family  Bible  near  her 
hand,  before  taking  her  seat  preparatory  to  their 
evening  devotions,  she  stooped  and  kissed  the  dear 
motherly  face,  saying,  in  a  humble  yet  joyous  tone, 
while  the  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes :  ' '  I  have  learned 
a  precious  lesson.  I  will  never  try  to  be  thankful 
again."  And  the  mother  returning  her  daughter's 
caress,  responded  in  a  gentle  voice  :  ' '  His  mercy 
endureth  forever." 


EOPLE. 


O  N'T  give  me  any  more  work;  I  have 
more  than  I  can  do  now,"  remonstrates 
one  who  is  already  burdened  with  cares 
and  responsibilities.  And  yet  to  these  same 
^$  busy  ones  extra  work  is  given — the  task  of 
pushing  forward  some  enterprise  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Church,  the  nation,  or  the  world  at  large; 
and,  notwithstanding  the  numerous  duties  that 
^ »  were  pressing  them  before,  they  still  find  time 
for  the  new  work,  and  it  is  forwarded  and  suc- 
cess is  achieved,  while  the  previous  duties  are 
not  neglected.  Go  to  a  temperance  conven- 
tion, and  take  a  look  at  the  workers.  You  will  find 
that  those  most  interested  in  missionary,  literary,  and 
like  enterprises  are  the  ones  who  are  chosen  to  do 
the  most  laborious  and  difficult  duties  of  the  society. 
In  such  a  convention,  where  some  were  asking  to  be 
excused  because  of  their  many  cares,  one  prominent 
worker,  known  to  be  untiring  in  labors  for  the  ref- 
ormation of  men,  and  who,  to  use  her  own  language, 
"had  to  work,  as  well  as  pray,  for  her  daily  bread," 
responded,  "  That  is  just  the  kind  of  women  we 
want.  The  busier,  the  better.  Those  who  are  doing 
nothing  are  not  fit  for  this  work."  She  was  right; 
and  the  same  demand  is  being  made  everywhere. 
It  is  not  the  man  or  woman  of  leisure  who  is  in  most 


226  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

demand,  but  those  who  are  already  at  work.  Those 
who  are  the  busiest  are  the  ones  who  are  thrust  out, 
as  it  were,  to  do  the  extra  work,  who  receive  the 
loudest  calls  to  positions  of  responsibility.  And 
why?  Those  who  are  idle  are  not  so  of  necessity, 
but  because  they  have  not  had  sufficient  energy  or 
tact  to  make  the  most  of  their  opportunities  and 
privileges,  and  if  placed  in  charge  of  some  special 
work  would  either  be  too  stupid  or  too  indolent  to 
carry  it  forward  to  success.  Such  persons  shut  them- 
selves out  from  many  a  golden  opportunity,  and  the 
Savior's  parable  finds  ample  illustration,  "  From  him 
that  hath  not  shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he 
seemeth  to  have." 

The  man  who  gives  wisely  of  his  temporal  bless- 
ings for  the  good  of  others  does  not  find  himself 
growing  poorer  because  of  his  benevolence ;  and  he 
who  uses  God's  best  gifts,  both  of  mind  and  heart, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  world,  does  not  find  these  gifts 
diminishing  or  growing  weaker.  On  the  contrary,  as 
the  'mind  reaches  out  and  grasps  new  thoughts,  and, 
in  turn,  gives  them  out  to  others,  it  increases  its  store 
of  knowledge  and  also  its  capacity  to  receive  and 
impart  that  knowledge ;  and  the  same  may  be  said 
of  our  desires  and  efforts  to  help  others  in  spiritual 
things.  If  we  make  use  of  the  means  and  opportu- 
nities placed  before  us,  they  will  be  increased,  and 
with  the  opportunities  will  come  the  ability  to  do. 
Beyond  this  ability  to  do,  they  cease  to  be  oppor- 
tunities. 

We  may  take  the  busiest  business  man,  the  Chris- 
tian man,  who  considers  his  business  as  belonging  to 


BUSY  PEOPLE.  227 

God  and  himself  as  the  Lord's  steward,  and  while 
that  man  is  thronged  with  business,  he  yet  finds  time 
for  special  work  for  his  Master.  And  we  do  not  see 
that  man's  business  suffering,  nor  his  soul  growing 
lean,  because  he  is  bestowing  blessings,  spiritual  and 
temporal,  upon  those  who  are  in  need.  A  long  list 
of  names  of  prominent  Christian  men  might  be 
given,  men  who  are  not  only  successful  in  business, 
but  who  have  attained  a  high  standard  of  Christian 
experience,  and  who  attribute  their  success  in '  busi- 
ness to  the  fact  that  they  withheld  nothing  from 
God,  either  of  money  or  time. 

We  see  the  mother,  whose  hands  and  heart  seem 
crowded  with  home  cares  and  loves,  and  she  will  find 
time  to  minister  to  the  necessities  of  others,  let  those 
necessities  be  either  temporal  or  spiritual.  And  she 
is  far  more  likely  to  be  ready  to  go  out  to  ' '  rescue 
the  perishing,"  to  care  for  the  sick  and  the  dying, 
than  is  her  sister  who  sits  idly  at  home,  demanding 
that  she  shall  be  ministered  to  instead  of  ministering. 

The  pastor  who  is  most  zealous  in  the  perform- 
ance of  his  duties  to  his  own  flock  will  be  likely  to 
have  the  most  opportunities  for  doing  good,  because 
he  will  make  such  opportunities.  He  will  not  only 
observe  the  letter  of  the  law,  but  he  will  take  in  its 
spirit,  also,  and  his  influence  will  be  felt  as  a  power 
•on  the  side  of  right  and  of  needed  reform.  Some  one 
says:  "The  happiest  people  are  those  who  have  just 
a  little  too  much  to  do,"  and  we  would  write  a  new 
maxim  :  If  you  want  an  extra  piece  of  work  done, 
go  to  the  one  who  is  already  burdened  with  duties. 


"l^IGHT- ABOUT 


[HEODORE  KAUFMAN  and  Henry 
.Woodford  were  fast  friends,  and  in  some 
I'respects  they  were  rather  inclined  to  be 
"  young  men,  although  they  had  not,  as 
yet,  allowed  their  love  for  company  and  what 
they  called  a  "good  time,"  to  materially  inter- 
fere  with  their  business.  On  this  particular 
evening  they  had  been  talking  over  their  pro- 
gramme for  the  New-Year's  calls  which  they 
expected  to  make  together  on  the  following 
day.  From  this  they  had  drifted  into  a  quiet 
conversation,  much  more  sober  and  thoughtful  in  its 
tone  than  it  was  usual  for  them  to  engage  in,  and 
then  they  gradually  lapsed  into  silence  and  -each  sat 
busy  with  his  own  thoughts. 

Suddenly  Woodford  turned  to.  his  companion 
with,  ' '  I  say,  Theo,  how  do  you  suppose  these  calls 
will  end?"  We  have  a  pretty  long  list.  How  about 
the  wine  those  delightful  ladies  will  offer  us?" 

"I  suppose  we  can  taste  without  swilling"  and 
Kaufman  elevated  his  eyebrows  as 'if  surprised  at  the 
questiorr. 

"Perhaps  so;    but  will  we?     My  remembrance 
of  last  New- Year's  is  not  very  pleasant;  the  winding 
up,  at  least." 
:   "  O,  well,  I  hope  we  each  learned  a  lesson,  and 


"RIGHT- ABOUT    FACE."  22p 

the  last  New- Year's  affair  need  not  repeat  itself," 
Kaufman  replied,  impatiently,  for  he  felt  nettled  that 
his  friend  should  remind  him  of  the  day  in  which 
both  had  become  quite  boisterous,  and  returned  to 
their  rooms  reeling  under  the  effect  of  the  numerous 
drinks  they  had  taken  in  their  round.  Woodford 
was  silenced  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  with 
an  apparent  effort,  looking  at  the  wall  instead  of  in 
his  friend's  face:  "I  tell  you  what,  Theo,  I  must 
eitKer  say  No,  every  time,  and  not  touch  wine  at  all, 
or  the  New- Year  of  one  year  ago  will  be  very  apt 
to  repeat  itself  in  my  case." 

Kaufman  looked  at  his  companion  as  if  he 
thought  him  jesting,  but  a  glance  at  the  serious  face, 
which  reddened  to  his  hair  under  his  scrutiny,  con- 
vinced him  that  he  was  in  sober  earnest. 

"O,  nonsense,  Hal ;  you  are  not  that  far  gone,  I 
hope,"  half  angrily. 

"  I  am  just  that  far  gone.  I  am  ashamed  to  own 
it,  even  to  you,  Theo ;  but  there  is  just  one  of  two 
things  for  me  to  do :  I  must  either  give  up  tippling 
entirely  or  go  to  destruction.  I  can  't  take  one  glass 
and  stop  there.  If  I  take  one,  I  '11  take  half  a  dozen, 
and  you  know  the  result." 

"Now,  see  here,  Hal,"  and  Kaufman's  eyes 
flashed  angrily ;  "do  you  propose  to  go  calling  with 
me  to-morrow  a>nd  make  yourself  ridiculous  by  drink- 
ing nothing  but  coffee  and  lemonade?" 

Woodford  looked  into  his  friend's  face,  and  as  he 
saw  the  contemptuous  look  upon  it  his  own  became 
a  trifle  paler,  and  his  eyes  fell  to  the  floor,  but  he 
ashed  in  a  low  tone,  "Theo,  would  you  rather  I 


230  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

should  make  myself  ridiculous  by  drinking  only  coffee 
and  lemonade,  and  come  home  to-morrow  night 
with  a  clear  head  and  steady  step,  or  drink  wines  all 
day  and  have  to  be  helped  home,  as  on  last  New- 
Year's?" 

"Of  course,  I  don't  want  you  to  drink  enough 
to  affect  you  in  that  way.  You  can  just  touch  the 
glass  to  your  lips.  You  can  be  polite  without  get- 
ting drunk." 

"If  politeness  means  tasting  every  glass  of  wine 
offered  me,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  be  very  sober 
when  the  day  is  over.  I  know  I  'm  a  weak  fool,  but 
if  I  put  a  glass  of  wine  to  my  lips  I  shall  drink  it; 
and  if  I  drink  one  glass  I  shall  probably  drink  a 
dozen  more,  and  you  know  where  it  will  land  me," 
and  Woodford  rose  and  began  drawing  on  his  over- 
coat and  picking  up  hat  and  gloves  to  go  to  his  lodg- 
ing place.  Kaufman  did  not  offer  to  detain  him,  and 
it  was  plain  that  he  was  not  pleased  with  his  friend's 
sudden  resolution.  When  ready  to  go  Woodford 
turned  to  him  and  extended  his  hand,  "  I  do  not  want 
you  to  think  me  stubborn  or  contrary,  but  I  must  stop 
while  I  can — I  am  in  more  danger  than  you  think." 

Kaufman  started  to  his  feet  as  if  awakening  from 
a  dream,  and  grasped  his  friend's  hand. 

"I  guess  you  are  about  right,  and  I  shall  do 
nothing  more  to  induce  you  to  break  your  resolution  ; 
but  if  you  can  refuse  all  through  the  day,  you  are 
plucky,  that 's  all.  It 's  a  good  deal  more  than  / 
could  do.  Don't  think  hard  of  me  for  what  I  said," 
and  with  a  hearty  grasp  of  hands  the  friends  separated. 

The  next  day  was  a  trying  one  to  young  Wood- 


"  RIGHT-ABOUT  FACE."  231 

ford,  and  more  than  once  he  was  on  the  point  of 
yielding  to  the  persuasions  of  his  lady  friends,  who 
"could  not  see  why  he  should  be  so  singular." 
However,  he  stood  firm,  for,  knowing  his  danger,  he 
determined  not  to  be  overcome.  Before  they  had 
completed  their  round  there  was  need  of  his  steady 
nerves  and  cool  head,  for  Kaufman  seemed  to  think 
he  must  make  amends  for  his  friend's  singular 
notion,  and  drank  more  freely  than  he  was  aware, 
ano^-Wood ford-  was  obliged  to  take  the  reins  and 
drive  the  spirited  horse  that  was  likely  to  become 
unmanageable  in  Kaufman's  hands.  There  were  yet 
four  or  five  names  on  the  list,  but  Woodford  saw 
that  his  friend  was  not  in  a  condition  to  make  calls, 
and  turned  the  horse  homeward.  Kaufman  remon- 
strated a  little,  but  he  was  fast  becoming  stupefied 
by  the  wines  he  had  drunk,  and  by  the  time  they 
had  reached  his  rooms  he  was  unable  to  walk  with- 
out assistance,  and  in  his  case  the  scene  of  the  year 
previous  had  repeated  itself. 

After  seeing  that  his  friend  was  properly  cared 
for,  Woodford  turned  his  steps  toward  his  own  lodg- 
ings with  a  heart  sadly  perplexed.  He  had,  it  was  true, 
been  laughed  at  because  of  his  sudden  resolution,  and 
some  of  those  from  whom  he  had  expected  encour- 
agement had  seemed  offended.  But,  notwithstanding 
his  disappointment,  he  felt  glad  that  he  had  had  the 
courage  to  resist  the  temptation  to  drink,  and  this 
feeling  was  strengthened  when  he  thought  of  the  con- 
dition in  which  his  companion  had  been  carried  to 
his  rooms. 

Kaufman  called  earlier  than  usual  at  his  friend's 


232  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

room  the  next  evening.  When  seated  by  the  fire, 
he  said,  a  little  humbly, 

"  Hal,  I  suppose  I  made  a  fool  of  myself,  yester- 
day; but  for  pity's  sake,  don't  say  any  thing  about 
it  so  that  my  employers  will  get  to  hear  of  it." 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  mention  it  j  but  I  am  afraid 
I  was  not  the  only  one  who  saw  that  you  had  been 
over  polite." 

"  Yes;  and  hang  it  all,  I  should  have  been  all  right 
if  I  had  had  the  'grit'  to  say  'No,'  as  you  did.  I 
tell  you  what,  Hal,  I  felt  proud  of  you  yesterday, 
even  when  I  laughed  at  you." 

"If  you  had  known  how  much  I  wanted  the 
stuff,  and  how  near  I  came  to  taking  it  several  times 
you  wouldn't  have  felt  quite  so  proud  of  me,  and," 
he  added  with  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  groan,  "I 
feel  as  if  the  battle  had  but  just  begun." 

"  I  hope  you'll  fight  it  out,  any  way,  old  fellow," 
responded  Kaufman  in  a  voice  that  sounded  as  if 
hope  for  himself  had  almost  died  out  of  his  heart. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  Theo,  I  have  been  living  too 
fast  lately,  and  it  has  been  troubling  me  like  fury," 
began  Woodford  again,  as  he  drew  his  chair  to  the 
table  and  leaned  his  elbows  upon  it.  "And  another 
thing,  my  head  is  not  fit  for  business  for  two  or  three 
days  after  it  has  been  muddled  with  alcohol.  I  feel 
I  must  quit  it  if  possible,  and  with  God's  help  I  am 
going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf." 

"Well,  success  to  you.  I  like  your  pluck,  and 
wish  I  was  in  your  boots ;  but  it  would  be  no  use  for 
me  to  try  to  quit."  And  the  young  man  looked 


"  RIGHT-ABOUT  FACE."  233 

utterly  helpless  and.  despairing  as  he  leaned  his  head 
in  his  hands,  as  he  sat  opposite  his  friend.  Wood- 
ford  sat  watching  him  for  some  moments,  wishing  he 
could  help  him,  yet  feeling  that  he  needed  help  him- 
self. At  last  he  said,  with  hopefulness  and  energy: 

"Look  here,  chum;  I  believe  I  was  to  blame  for 
getting  you  into  these  habits,  at  the  first,  and  I  'm 
sorry  for  it.  We  Ve  sown  our  wild  oats  together 
during  the  past  two  years,  suppose  we  'right-about 
fac^  and  start  out  on  a  different  line.  I  shall  feel 
as  if  I  was  ready  to  trip  up  if  you  are  pulling  the 
other  way  all  the  time.  Can  't  we  help  each  other?" 
Kaufman  looked  up  with  a  sort  of  incredulous  smile 
at  the  suggestion  that  he  could  help  any  one  toward 
leading  a  better  life,  but  he  listened  while  his  friend 
went  on  eagerly, 

4 '  Say  you  '11  do  it,  and  we  '11  draw  up  a  total 
abstinence  pledge,  and  sign  it  to-night." 

"Yes,  and  both  break  it  in  less  than  a  month," 
was  the  hopeless  response. 

"We'll  not  do  any  such  thing,"  responded 
Woodford,  as  if  filled  with  new  life.  "  Let 's  write 
out  the  pledges  right  now.  We  can  go  each  other's 
security,  and  send  the  pledges  home  to  our  mothers 
for  safe-keeping.  I  tell  you  what,  Theo,  we  '11  make 
two  blessed  women  happy  if  we  do,"  and  Woodford 
shoved  back  his  chair  and  came  and  laid  a  hand  on 
his  companion's  shoulder. 

"If  I  thought  I  could  keep  it,  I  would  n't  mind," 
Kaufman  said,  drearily. 

"  Keep  it?  Of  course  you  will.  Where  's  paper, 
pen,  and  ink?  Let's  have  them  now." 


234  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  Woodford's  enthusi- 
asm, and  Kaufman  drew  back  from  the  table  that  the 
papers  might  be  taken  from  the  drawer,  saying,  with 
a  smile : 

"I  believe  this  is  your  desk,  not  mine,  Hal;  so 
help  yourself." 

He  sat  watching  while  Woodford  wrote  out  the 
pledges.  Then  they  signed  both,  and  placed  them 
in  envelopes,  to  be  sent  to  their  mothers  in  their 
quiet  country  homes.  When  this  was  done,  they 
relapsed  into  silence ;  and  thus  they  sat  for  some 
time ;  and  if  their  faces  were  the  index  to  their 
thoughts,  they  must  have  been  very  serious  ones, 
and  not  altogether  pleasant. 

At  last  Kaufman  said:  "Hal,  if  I  keep  that 
pledge  it  will  be  a  terrible  struggle.  I  never  told 
you,  because  I  was  ashamed  to  own  what  a  slave  I 
was;  but  I  have  tried  three  or  Jour  times  during  the 
past  year  to  give  up  drink,  and  in  less  than  two 
weeks  I  have  gone  back  to  my  cups  again.  God 
only  knows  how  I  shall  succeed  this  time  ;  but  it  is 
a  serious  business,  I  can  tell  you ;  for  I  am  not 
playing.  I  mean  all  I  have  said." 

"And  so  do  I,"  responded  his  friend,  heartily. 
"It  may  be  that  I  shall  fail.  I  hope  not;  but" — 
hesitating,  as  if  in  doubt  as  to  how  his  friend  would 
receive  his  suggestion — "I  'm  not  one  to  talk  cant; 
but,  Theo.,  you  know  where  our  mothers  go  for 
strength  to  do  right — 'grace,'  I  believe  they  call  it — 
and  you  know  that 's  where  they  urge  us  to  go. 
Suppose  we  try  it.  I  believe  praying  has  kept  my 
mother  up  when  nothing  else  would.  She  has  had 


"RIGHT  ABOUT  FACE."  235 

some   pretty  tough   places  to  go  through,   I   fancy. 
What  do  you~~say  ?     Shall  we  try  it?" 

Theodore  Kaufman  rose  from  his  seat  without  a 
word ;  but  his  face  showed  that  the  right  chord  had 
had  been  struck — one  which  would  be  most  likely  to 
produce  harmony  in  both  their  lives.  Extending  his 
hand,  as  Woodford  rose  and  took  a  step  toward  him, 
they  clasped  hands  with  a  firm  grasp,  and  there  was  a 
look  in  their  faces  that  betokened  higher  resolves  and 
a  step  toward  better  lives.  They  stood  thus  for  a 
moment,  looking  into  each  other's  faces,  and  then, 
with  a  fervent  though  scarcely  audible  "  God  help  us  !" 
they  separated,  and  the  morrow  looked  more  hopeful 
than  its  wont,  even  though  they  knew  there  was  a 
struggle  before  them ;  for  they  were  strengthened  by 
the  thought  that  their  mothers'  God  would  be  to  them 
a  tower  of  strength. 


OW  5&£oRTH  If  ILL  CONQUERED  HIS 

J^NEMY. 
&  5torj  for  Bojs. 


was  rather  a   gloomy,    dissatisfied   face 
that  Worth  Hill  carried  into  his  mother's 
sitting-room  on  the  evening  after  the  "first 
day"  of  the  Fall  term  of   the  village  school, 
and  Mrs.  Hill  asked,  a  little  anxiously : 
"  In  trouble,  Worth?" 
"  No,"  peevishly  responded  the  boy. 
"Not  sick,    I  hope?"  still  interrogated  the 
mother,  without  noticing  his  disrespectful  tone. 
"No,   I'm  not  sick;    but" — pulling,  in    a 
sort  of  confused  way  at  the  corner  of  the  table- 
cover. 

"What  is  the  matter,  then?  You  look  as  if  you 
were  distressed  in  some  way,"  still  insisted  the  mother. 
"  Why,  mother,  you  see,  last  Spring  Miss  Aldrich 
promised  me  that  if  we  were  both  in  at  the  opening 
of  the  school,  Will  Morris  and  I  should  be  seat-mates 
during  this  term,  and  to-day  she  gave  Will  another 
seat,  and  put  Jim  Brown  in  the  seat  with  me ;  and  I 
say  it's  too  bad  -  for  he  's  the  meanest  boy  in  all  the 
school!"  and  Worth's  lip  quivered  with  disappoint- 
ment and  scarcely  restrained  anger. 

"If  the  other  seats  are  all  occupied,  some  one 
must  share  with  him,"  said  the  mother,  kindly. 

"I  suppose  so.      But  I  don't  see  why  she  need 


How  WORTH  HILL  CONQUERED  HIS  ENEMY.      237 

put  him  in  my  seat.  The  boys  were  making  faces  on 
the  sly  all  through  school  hours  ;  and  as  soon  as  we 
were  out  of  doors  Sam  Moore  called  out,  '  Three 
cheers  for  the  new  firm  of  Brown  and  Hill !'  and  the 
boys  all  cheered  and  laughed  as  if  Sam  had  said 
something  very  sharp  ;  and,  mother,  I  just  can 't 
stand  it!"  and  the  boy  went  to  the  window  to  hide 
the  tears  he  could  not  keep  back. 

' '  Perhaps  Brown  may  not  prove  as  disagreeable 
asffou  anticipate,"  suggested  Mrs.  Hill,  encour- 
agingly. 

"O  mother,  I  know  him  like  a  book  !  He  is  just 
as  disagreeable  as  any  one  can  be,"  answered  Worth, 
his  face  still  toward  the  window,  and  with  a  tone 
which  showed  that  he  did  not  intend  to  be  cheated 
out  of  the  pleasure  of  complaining,  at  least. 

"  Well,  my  son,  try  to  make  the  best  of  it.  I 
hope  you  will  hot  have  any  trouble  with  Brown,"  was 
Mrs.  Hill's  reply,  as  she  laid  aside  her  sewing  to  look 
after  things  in  the  dming-room. 

When  tea  was  over,  Worth  had  his  lessons  to 
study ;  and  so  nothing  more  was  said  about  the  un- 
welcome seat-mate. 

At  the  close  of  the  second  day  Worth's  face  was 
even  more  cloudy  than  on  the  previous  evening. 
Throwing,  rather  than  hanging,  his  hat  on  the  rack, 
he  walked  straight  to  his  mother's  room,  and,  with- 
out waiting  for  the  usual  greeting,  said  abruptly : 

"  Can  't  I  stay  at  Jiomc  and  study?" 

Mrs.  Hill  scanned  her  boy's  face  carefully  for  a 
moment,  and  then  asked: 

"Have  you  quarreled  with  Brown  already?" 


238          STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"No,  and  not  likely  to;  Jim  don't  even  look  at 
me.  But  the  boys  tease  so.  Sam  wanted  to  know 
if  we  were  going  to  steal  chickens  on  the  shares,  and 
if  I  had  agreed  to  take  half  of  Jim's  ferulings.  They 
made  me  so  angry  I  could  n't  study,  and  I  missed  my 
lessons;  and  I  wish  I  could  stay  at  home,"  sobbed 
Worth,  leaning  his  head  on  the  table  at  his  mother's 
side. 

Mrs.  Hill  soothed  him  as  best  she  could. 

"I  am  busy  now;  but  after  tea  we  will  talk  this 
matter  over.  Perhaps  we  can  think  of  a  plan  to  have 
your  seat-mate  changed." 

Worth's  face  brightened. 

"  O,  will  you?  You  always  was  the  best  mother, 
any  way;"  and  he  gave  his  mother  the  kiss  he  had 
forgotten,  in  his  haste  to  settle  his  school  troubles. 

When  the  younger  children  were  all  tucked  away 
for  the  night,  Mrs.  Hill  brought  out  her  work-basket, 
saying  pleasantly : 

' '  Now,  while  I  mend  these  garments,  tell  me  all 
about  Jim  Brown  ?  What  does  he  do  that  he  is  dis- 
liked so  much?" 

"Do?  Why,  every  thing!  I  couldn't  tell  the 
half  of  the  mean  tricks  he  plays  on  us ;"  and  Worth 
closed  his  book  and  looked  up,  his  eyes  flashing  at 
the  remembrance  of  his  wrongs. 

"Do  you  boys  never  tease  him?" 

"  Y-e-s,  sometimes — just  to  get  even,  you  know. 
O  my!  you  ought  to  have  seen  him  Saturday,  when 
Dick  Allen  called  him  a  pauper's  son !  Jim  sprang 
at  him  like  a  tiger,  and  gave  him  a  blow  that  sent 
him  reeling  against  the  fence." 


How  WORTH  HILL  CONQUERED  HIS  ENEMY.      239 

Mrs.  Hill  looked  grave. 

"Is  it  true  that  his  father  is  a  pauper?" 

' '  Yes ;  or  it  was  true.  He  died  in  the  alms- 
house  three  years  ago,  when  Jim  was  ten  years  old. 
His  mother  takes  in  washing,  and  Jim  doe,s  errands 
mornings  and  evenings.  Sam  Moore  says  they  're 
awful  poor." 

Mrs.  Hill's  face  was  very  thoughtful. 

' '  If  what  you  say  about  the  Brown  family  is  true, 
JirfTcertainly  has  enough  to  make  him  feel  uncom- 
fortable; and  this  may  account,  in  part,  for  his  bad 
conduct.  What  have  his  school  mates  done  to  make 
it  pleasant  for  him  at  school?" 

"Why,  mother,  he  is  so  cross  we  can  't  do  any 
thing  for  him.  He  would  n't  let  us." 

"Have  you  ever  really  tried?" 

"  No  ;  I'm  afraid  /  have  n't.  You  see,  it  does  n't 
seem  natural  to  try  to  please  a  fellow  you  do  n't  like. " 

"I  suppose  it  isn't  natural,  exactly;  but  I  think 
you  had  better  try  the  law  of  kindness  on  this  boy 
for  a  while.  The  other  law  seems  to  have  had  a 
pretty  thorough  trial." 

Worth  made  no  reply.  His  mother's  plan  was" 
not  exactly  what  he  had  anticipated,  and  he  did  not 
relish  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken. 

' '  '  Heaping  coals  of  fire '  after  the  Scripture  plan 
•may  do  him  good,"  suggested  his  mother. 

"I  don't  know  as  it  would  do  him  any  good,  he 
just  seems  to  hate  every  one  of  us,"  said  Worth, 
excusingly. 

"Very  likely,"  answered  Mrs.  Hill  dryly;  then 
she  said,  earnestly,  ' '  Worth,  I  hope  you,  at  any  rate, 


240  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

will  try  to  do  right  toward  this  unfortunate  boy;  and 
remember  that  you  can  not  win  his  friendship  by  re- 
taliation. You  must  control  your  own  temper,  and 
ask  God  to  help  you  to  do  as  you  would  be  done  by 
if  you  were  in  Jim  Brown's  place." 

His  mother's  words  made  a  deep  impression  on 
Worth,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  would  like  to  do  the  right 
thing ;  but  his  reply  was : 

"I  don't  believe  I  can  be  good  to  him,  mother; 
he  is  so  cross.  If  it  was  any  body  but  Jim  Brown, 
I  might  do  it." 

"  If  it  was  a  better  boy  than  Jim  Brown,  he  Avould 
not  need  your  kindness  so  much,"  was  Mrs.  Hill's 
quiet  reply,  as  she  turned  to  her  work,  feeling  that 
she  had  said  enough  for  the  present. 

Worth  turned  to  his  lessons  again,  and  tried  to 
make  up  for  the  time  that  had  been  spent  in  their 
talk. 

The  next  morning,  as  Worth  kissed  his  mother 
good-bye,  she  said  softly: 

"Do  n't  forget." 

However,  it  was  pretty  hard  not  to  "forget,"  for 
Jim  Brown  looked  daggers  at  him  as  he  took  his 
seat,  and  the  boys  made  wry  faces  and  comic  ges- 
tures at  him  as  they  passed  to  the  recitation-room. 

He  soon  found,  as  we  all  do  when  watching  for 
it,  an  opportunity  to  try  the  effects  of  kindness  and 
self-denial. 

Just  before  recess,  Jim  drew  out  his  slate,  and 
began  fumbling  in  his  pockets  for  his  pencil,  but  failed 
to  find  it. 

The  rules  forbade  pupils  leaving  their  seats  at  that 


How  WORTH  HILL  CONQUERED  HIS  ENEMY.       241 

hour,  and  if  he  failed  to  have  his  lesson,  he  would 
have  to  remain  indoors  until  he  had  mastered  it. 

Worth  saw  his  perplexed  look,  and  guessed  the 
cause,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  felt  inclined  to  rejoice 
over  his  discomfiture ;  but  his  mother's  words, 
"don't  forget,"  came  into  his  mind,  and,  after  a 
momentary  struggle  with  self,  he  quietly  laid  the  ex- 
tra pencil  he  always  carried  on  Jim's  slate. 

At  first  the  boy  pretended  not  to  see  it,  but  in  a 
few>fltornents  necessity  overcame  his  pride,  and  he 
took  up  the  pencil  and  began  the  work;  but  some 
way  the  examples  seemed  harder  than  usual,  and, 
though  he  tried  them  over  and  over,  there  were  two 
that  would  not  come  right,  and  when  the  recess  bell 
rang  the  lesson  was  incomplete. 

Worth  had  just  finished  his  own  arithmetic  lesson, 
and  was  about  to  leave  the  room  with  the  other  boys, 
when  a  thought  struck  him,  and  he  took  his  seat 
again,  saying,  carelessly: 

"Won't  they  come  right?" 

"No,"  without  looking  up. 

"Going  to  stay  in  and  work  at  them?" 

"None  of  your  business,"  growled  Jim,  looking 
as  if  he  intended  to  resent  all  efforts  at  teasing. 

"I  know  it  is  n't,"  answered  Worth,  good- 
naturedly,  "but  I  do  n't  care  for  playing  ball  to- 
tfay,  and,  if  you  '11  let  me,  I  '11  look  over  these  sums 
with  you ;  I  do  n't  knpw  them  any  too  well,  my- 
self." 

Jim  looked  at  his  schoolmate  as  if  he  suspected 
some  trick  back  of  the  proffered  help ;  but  he  pushed 
the  slate  toward  Worth  with  evident  reluctance,  and 


242  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

pointed,  without  a  word,  to  the  examples  in  the 
book. 

By  the  time  they  were  solved  and  Jim  had  been 
made  to  comprehend  them,  recess  was  over.  Jim 
dicl  not  say  'thank  you,'  as  Worth  would  have  said 
for  a  similar  favor,  but  as  he  closed  the  book  and 
laid  it  with  his  slate,  he  muttered,  as  if  to  himself, 
but  loud  enough'  for  Worth  to  hear: 

"I'm  awful  glad  they're  done." 

It  was  not  just  the  sort  of  reward  Worth  ex- 
pected, but  his  own  satisfaction  at  having  done  a 
kind  act  made  ample  amends  for  the  lack  of  courtesy 
on  the  part  of  his  companion. 

He  longed  to  tell  his  mother  when  he  went  home 
of  his  victory  over  self,*  but  she  asked  no  questions, 
and  it  would  look  like  boasting  if  he  should  speak 
of  it  without  she  inquired  into  matters. 

But  if  Mrs.  Hill  said  nothing,  she  was,  neverthe- 
less, watching  her  boy's  face,  and  she  saw,  day  by 
day,  that  the  clouds  were  gradually  disappearing,  and 
she  left  him  to  work  his  way  out  of  his  troubles 
without  her  help. 

One  evening,  about  two  weeks  after  the  affair  of 
the  arithmetic  lesson,  Worth  came  bounding  into  the 
sitting-room  with  the  exclamation : 

"O  mother,  guess  what's  happened!" 

Mrs.  Hill  looked  at  the  bright  face,  and  said: 
"Nothing  bad,  I  guess." 

"No,  indeed;  it's  about  Jim  Brown." 

"I  suppose  Miss  Aldrich  has  taken  pity  on  you, 
and  given  Brown  another  seat,"  answered  his  mother, 
watching  Worth's  face. 


How  WORTH  HILL  CONQUERED  HIS  ENEMY.      243 

1 '  Now,  mother,  I  do  n't  believe  you  're  trying  to 
guess,"  and  he  looked  almost  offended. 

"Then  you  had  better  tell  me,  and  save  time," 
and  she  laid  aside  her  work,  that  she  might  listen 
more  attentively. 

"Well,"  drawing  up  a  low  seat  where  he  could 
rest  his  arms  on  his  mother's  knee,  and  look  into 
her  face  at  the  same  time,  "I  tried  the  'heaping 
coals'  plan,  mother,  and  Jim  and  I  have  got  on 
pretty  well  most  of  the  time.  To-day  the  teacher 
told  him  he  must  have  a  new  Reader,  if  he  wanted 
to  stay  in  his  class,  and  he  came  to  his  seat  looking 
just  as  sullen  as  could  be.  Any  other  boy  would 
have  been  glad  enough  to  receive  orders  to  get  a 
new  book,  and  his  old  one  is  all  in  pieces,  and  half 
of  the  leaves  gone.  I  knew  in  a  moment  he  was 
ashamed  because  he  was  n't  able  to  buy  a  new  one, 
and  was  too  proud  to  say  any  thing  about  it.  I 
had  n't  brought  my  Reader  home  since  I  bought  my 
History,  last  week;  and  you  know  you  said  I  might 
give  it  to  some  one  who  needed  it.  I  took  it  out 
of  the  desk  and  wrote  on  the  fly-leaf  'James  Brown's 
book,'  and  then  shoved  it  over  in  front  of  him,  leav- 
ing it  open,  so  he  could  n't  help  seeing  what  I  had 
written. 

"You  ought  to  have  seen  how  queer  the  boy 
looked ;  he  just  stared  at  me  a  moment,  and  then 
took  up  the  Reader,  and  turned  the  leaves  over 
and  over  and  looked  at  the  bright,  clean  binding — 
you  know  it 's  nearly  as  good  as  new — then  he  laid 
his  head  down  on  his  desk  and  began  to  cry.  He 
sobbed  so  hard  that  the  children  all  heard  him;  I 


244  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

tell  you  they  opened  their  eyes,  for  Jim  has  always 
said  'nobody  but  girls  and  babies  ever  cry.' 

"Miss  Aldrich  asked  him  what  was  the  matter, 
and  he  just  held  on  to  the  book  and  cried  the  harder; 
at  last,  he  told  the  teacher  that  his  mother  could 
not  afford  to  get  him  books,  and  he  had  spent  all 
his  money  for  a  pair  of  boots,  and  he  thought  he 
would  have  to  quit  school,  and  he  had  so  wanted  to 
get  an  education,  so  he  could  make  a  living,  and  he 
thought  nobody  cared  for  him  at  all  until  I  had 
given  him  the  book  just  when  he  needed  it. 

' '  I  felt  pretty  cheap  to  have  him  say  such  kind 
things  of  me  right  before  all  the  school,  but  the 
boys  did  n't  laugh  at  him  one  bit,  but  they  looKed 
as  if  they  had  half  a  mind  to  cry,  too. 

"Pretty  soon  school  was  dismissed,  and,  just  as 
we  were  leaving  the  yard,  Jim  pulled  my  sleeve,  and 
said : 

"  'Do  n't  hurry,  Worth;  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. ' 

"So  I  loitered  along  behind  the  other  boys,  and 
then  he  told  me  he  was  sorry  he  had  ever  treated  me 
so  badly,  and  that  he  always  thought  I  just  hated 
him,  and  that  was  why  he  had  played  tricks  on  me ; 
but  he  says  he  '11  stick  to  me  forever,  if  I  '11  forgive 
him  for  treating  me  so  mean." 

"By  a  little  kindness  and  by  watching  over  your- 
self, you  have  changed  an  enemy  into  a  friend,"  said 
Mrs.  Hill,  in  a  low  tone,  as  Worth  paused  for  breath. 

He  looked  at  his  mother's  smiling  face  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  his  face  lighted  up  if  he  had  made  a  dis- 
covery. 


How  WORTH  HILL  CONQUERED  HIS  ENEMY.      245 

' '  O  mother,  was  that  what  you  meant  about  plan- 
ning to  have  my  seat-mate  changed?" 

"Yes;  are  you  satisfied  with  the  new  one?" 

And  the  mother  looked  inquiringly  into  the  ear- 
nest face  that  looked  into  hers. 

' '  I  guess  I  am !  I  am  awful  glad  you  told  me 
how  it  was  to  be  done,  too,"  he  added,  in  a  tender 
tone,  as  he  gathered  up  hat  and  books,  that  had 
been  tossed  on  the  table,  in  his  eagerness  to  tell  his 
storyT' 

As  the  school  progressed  so  did  the  friendship 
between  Worth  and  his  unpopular  schoolmate;  and 
the  friendship  seemed  to  have  a  good  influence  upon 
other  pupils,  as  well  as  Jim  Brown. 

The  leaders  soon  quit  teasing,  when  they  found 
that  Worth  was  determined  to  stick  to  him,  in  spite 
of  his  rags  and  uncouth  ways;  and  the  feeling  that 
some  one  really  cared  for  him  gradually  softened  his 
heart,  making  him  more  susceptible  of  good  impres- 
sions, and  created  a  strong  desiVe  to  make  himself 
worthy  of  the  respect  of  others.  And  the  final  ver- 
dict of  Sam  Moore  and  Dick  Allen  was:  "Jim  is  not 
such  a  bad  fellow,  after  all." 


BESSIE  I)EAN'S  €[RIEYANCE. 


HE  front  gate  at  the  Dean  residence  swung 
to  with  a  vigorous  clang,  and  the  latch 
gave  an  angry  click,  as  if  in  protest  against 
the  rather  emphatic  jerk  bestowed  upon  said 
gate  by  Bessie  Dean,  as  she  closed  it  after  her, 
and  walked  up  the  path  toward  the  house. 
That  something  had  "gone  wrong"  with  the 
young  lady  was  very  evident  from  the  manner 
in  which  she  emphasized  her  steps ;  and  her 
brother  Charlie,  eying  her  from  his  hammock 
under  the  shade-tree,  muttered  half  aloud : 
"Whew!  I  wonder  what  ails  her  ladyship  now! 
Something  to  pay,  I'll  warrant."  Her  "ladyship" 
did  not  hear  the  complimentary  remarks,  and  so 
was  neither  the  worse  nor  the  better  because  of 
them. 

Going  into  the -house  with  the  same  positive  ring 
in  her  steps,  she  marched  straight  to  the  sitting-room, 
where  she  knew  she  would  find  her  mother.  Taking 
her  hat  in  one  hand,  and  pushing  back  her  "bangles" 
with  the  other,  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair  just 
opposite  Mrs.  Dean,  and,  without  waiting  for  preface 
6V  prelude,  asked  impatiently:  "Mother,  do  I  look 
like  a  fool?" 

Mrs.  Dean  had  looked  up  in  half-reproof  at  her 
daughter's  unceremonious  manner  of  entering  the 


BESSIE  DEAN'S  GRIEVANCE.  247 

room,  and  she  now  looked  in  evident  surprise  at  the 
question,  wondering  what  it  meant. 

A  glance  at  Bessie's  tragi-comic  expression  and 
attitude  brought  a  smile  to  the  mother's  face,  in  spite 
of  her  effort  to  appear  displeased.  At  last,  seeing 
that  Bessie  expected  an  answer,  she  said,  while  an 
odd  twitch  about  her  mouth  betrayed  the  effort  to 
keep  a  sober  face : 

"  Not  to  my  eyes,  dearie.  But  you  had  better  go 
to  softie  one  else  for  a  decision.  I  am  an  interested 
party,  and  perhaps  not  capable  of  giving  an  unbiased 
opinion." 

"At  any  rate,  every  body  treats  me  as  if  they 
supposed  me  incapable  of  a  single  sensible  idea," 
retorted  Bessie,  giving  her  hat  a  spiteful  twist. 

"Not  'every  body,'  daughter,"  protested  Mrs. 
Dean. 

"Well,  then,  'most  every  one,  especially  the  gen- 
tlemen. Why,  mother,  they  all  talk  as  if  I  were  a 
baby,  and  had  to  be  amused.  You,  know  I  went  to 
spend  the  day  with  Nellie  Meyers.  A  gentleman, 
an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Meyers,  was  there  to  dinner. 
Nellie  says  he  has  been  nearly  all  over  the  world, 
and  that  he  is  a  regular  correspondent  for  two  or 
three  magazines,  and  we  thought  we  would  have  a 
rare  treat  in  hearing  him  talk  about  his  travels ;  and 
so  we  did,  while  he  was  talking  to  Mr.  Meyers ;  but 
if  by  any  chance  he  felt  called  upon  to  say  any  thing 
to  Nellie  or  me,  it  was  almost  sure  to  be  something 
light  and  trifling;  and  if  he  did  say  any  thing  sensi- 
ble, he  would  throw  in  some  compliment,  and  spoil 
it  all.  It  was  too  provoking." 


248  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"I  presume  the  gentleman  did  not  mean  to 
offend.  He  only  thought  it  his  duty  to  say  some- 
thing pleasant." 

' '  Yes  ;  that  is  the  provoking  part  of  it.  People 
are  always  saying  soft  and  silly  things,  just  to  please 
us ;  and  we  are  not  half  so  well  pleased  as  they  im- 
agine \ve  are." 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  usf"  asked  Mrs.  Dean. 

"Women  and  girls  —  especially  girls.  The  gen- 
tlemen think  we  do  n't  know  any  thing,  and  treat  us 
accordingly." 

"  Perhaps  that  may  be  true  so  far  as  knowledge 
is  concerned.  Some  of  us  do  n't  know  so  very 
much."  And  Mrs.  Dean  laughed  at  the  serious  face 
of  her  daughter. 

"But  we  don't  like  to  be  told  of  it  quite  so 
plainly.  Only  last  week,  at  Mrs.  Harris's  party, 
Lulu  Harris  gave  me  an  introduction  to  Dr.  S.,  who 
has  nearly  a  dozen  capital  letters  attached  to  his 
name,  representing  degrees  conferred  upon  him  in 
this  country  and  in  Germany.  I  felt  a  little  afraid 
of  his  learning ;  but  I  thought,  '  Now  I  will  have  an 
opportunity  to  find  out  something  I  want  to  know 
very  much  ;'  and  I  had  a  half-dozen  questions  ready, 
if  only  the  way  was  opened  to  ask  them.  We  were 
near  the  center-table,  and  I  picked  up  a  copy  of 
Burns  on  purpose  to  get  him  to  say  something  about 
Scotland,  thinking  I  could  easily  lead  him  from  there 
across  the  channel.  But  he  would  n't  lead  a  bit. 
He  commented  on  the  different  '  style '  of  the  ladies, 
talked  about  the  'beautiful  evening,'  and  asked  me 
if  I  was  fond  of  croquet  and  lawn  tennis — just,  for 


BESSIE  DEAN'S  GRIEVANCE.     ^  249 

all  the  world,  as  Tom  Jones  or  Charlie  Wilmot  would 
have  done — and  I  was  disappointed.  He  seemed  to 
think  me  shallow,  and  felt  compelled  to  descend  to 
my  level,  if  he  would  make  himself  agreeable  to  me." 

"Bessie,  I  am  sure  you  must  be  exaggerating  a 
good  deal,"  said  her  mother,  earnestly. 

"  Not  at  all.  They  every  one  talk  to  us  just  in 
that  fashion.  Dr.  S.  could  talk  sensibly  enough  to 
father  and  the  minister,  and  so  could  the  others ;  but 
the*moment  they  turned  their  conversation  toward  a 
lady,  they  began  to  smile  and  say  'pretty'  things." 

"You  should  not  say  all,  daughter.  I  am  sure 
your  father  seldom  talks  nonsense  to  ladies." 

"No,  he  doesn't;  and  I  am  just  proud  of  him. 
But,  if  you  except  Uncle  Henry,  papa  is  about  the 
only  gentleman  who  ever  talks  to  me  as  if  he  thought 
I  had  sense  enough  to  appreciate  sensible  talk." 

' '  Perhaps  the  fault  is  not  all  on  the  part  of  the 
gentlemen,"  suggested  Mrs.  Dean.  "Do  not  ladies 
usually  show  more  interest  in  light  and  trifling  sub- 
jects than  on  more  solid  ones?" 

"Yes;  but  half  the  time  it  is  because  they  are 
afraid  of  being  called  '  blue-stocking '  or  '  strong- 
minded.'  You  know,  mother  dear,  that  you  never 
allow  yourself  perfect  liberty  of  speech  except  when 
you  are  talking  to  papa  or  uncle,  or  on  very  rare  oc- 
•  casions,  and  yet  we  know  you  can  talk  sense  with 
any  of  them.  We  girls  might  be  more  sensible  if 
people  would  talk  sense  to  us.  We  do  n't  want  any 
stilted  grandiloquence,  nor  any  Greek  or  Latin,  except 
on  state  occasions,"  laughed  Bessie,  getting  back  to 
her  usual  good-nature,  "  but  just  sensible,  every  day 


250  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

talk.  '  Pretty '  talk  may  do  occasionally,  but  it  is  n't 
fair  for  our  brothers  to  say  solid,  sensible  "things  to 
each  other,  and  give  us  only  the  chaff.  We  may  not 
be  overwise,  but  talking  nonsense  to  us  is  not  likely 
to  make  us  any  wiser." 


ARNING   JfER  OWN    IllYING. 


RS.  WILLIS  was  paying  a  visit   to  her 
old  friend  and  schoolmate,  Mrs.  Danely. 
The  ladies  had  been  friends  in  girlhood, 
and  had  made  it  a  rule  to  visit  each  other  once 
a  year,  at  least,  though  residing  in  cities  some 
distance   apart.      Mrs.  Willis   had   only  arrived 
a  couple  of  hours  before  the  date  at  which  the 
conversation    I    am    about    to    record    began. 
Having  changed  her  traveling  dress  for  a  fresh 
one,   and    partaken    of   some   refreshment,    the 
two  ladies  were  soon  busily  engaged  in  talking 
over  old  times  and  home  news. 
"Where  is  Annie?"  Mrs.   Willis  asked  between 
one  of  the  brief  pauses  in  the  conversation. 

' '  She  is  at  the  office.  Did  I  not  write  you  that 
Annie  is  book-keeper  for  the  firm  in  which  her  father 
is  partner?" 

"Why,  Helen!  You  are  surely  joking,"  a  look 
of  incredulity  taking  the  place  of  the  surprised  one 
which  her  friend's  answer  had  called  forth. 

"No,  Annie.  I  am  serious  about  it.  She  has 
been  in  the  position  for  three  months,  and  seems  to 
be  very  much  pleased  with  the  business." 

"But  why  is  she  doing  it?  Mr.  Danely  is  not  in 
financial  difficulty,  I  hope?"  and  Mrs.  Willis  looked 
at  her  friend  with  evident  anxiety. 


252         STORIES  OF  HOME  AND.  HOME  FOLKS. 

"No,  indeed.  The  firm  has  never  been  more 
prosperous  than  now." 

"Then  why  do  you  allow  her  to  do  such  a 
thing?" 

"She  wanted  the  place,  and  the  firm  gave  it  to 
her,  after  a  month's  trial,"  responded  Mrs.  Danely, 
quietly. 

"But  I  thought  you  were  going  to  make  a  lady 
of  her?" 

"That  is  the  intention  still,  but  not  one  of  the 
helpless  kind,  I  hope." 

"  But  what  do  the  ladies  of  your  'set'  say  about 
such  a  step?" 

"  Not  much  now.  They  were  very  much  con- 
cerned at  first,  and  some  went  so  far  as  to  inquire 
into  our  bank  account,  but  when  they  found  that  sat- 
isfactory, they  seemed  to  feel  a  little  easier ;  but  they 
evidently  think  us  either  'queer'  or  'stingy.'" 

"  But  if  Annie  was  so  anxious  to  be  independent 
it  seems  to  me  there  are  other  kinds  of  work  much 
more  suitable  for  a  young  lady  than  keeping  books 
in  a  factory." 

"I  do  n't  know  about  that.  Annie  seems  to 
enjoy  real  business.  She  doesn't  care  particularly 
for  music,  that  is,  not  enough  to  m.ake  it  a  special 
study,  and  at  her  own  request  she  has  quit  taking 
lessons,  though  you  know  she  plays  and  sings  very 
well.  She  dislikes  millinery  and  dressmaking,  and 
has  felt  as  if  she  was  without  a  mission  since  she  is 
out  of  school,  so  when  her  brother  Henry  was  ap- 
pointed superintendent  of  the  factory,  the  firm  had 
to  look  up  a  new  book-keeper,  and  Annie  asked  her 


EARNING  HER  OWN  LIVING.  253 

father's  permission  to  apply  for  the  situation.  We 
had  some  little  doubts  about  the  '  propriety  '  of  the 
step,  but  she  seemed  so  anxious  for  it  that  we  con- 
sented to  the  trial  if  the  other  members  of  the  firm 
were  willing.  They  had  doubts  about  her  ability  at 
first,  but  now,  after  three  months,  they  seem  per- 
fectly satisfied." 

"Some  way  a  factory  seems  so  out  of  place  for 
Annie,"  persisted  Mrs.  Willis. 

*Ht  seems  more  suitable  for  her  than  any  thing 
else,  just  now.  If  .she  were  clerking  in  a  store  or 
at  work  in  a  shop,  she  would  have  to  mingle  with 
people  whose  society  would  not  be  beneficial.  Where 
she  is  now  her  father  or  brother  can  accompany  lier 
home  every  day,  and  one  of  them  is  always  in  the 
establishment,  and  I  feel  that  she  is  much  safer  than 
if  she  were  with  strangers." 

"Well,  that  may  be;  but  how  could  you  consent 
to  it?  I  have  always  wanted  to  be  proud  of  my 
namesake,  and  now  the  idea  of  her  being  a  book- 
keeper in  a  woolen  factory  is  not  at  all  to  my  notion. 
If  you  were  poor  and  Annie  was  obliged  to  earn  her 
living,  it  would  not  seem  so  absurd;  but  for  a  man 
who  is  worth  sixty  or  seventy  thousand  dollars  to  set 
his  daughter — an  only  daughter  at  that — to  earn  her 
own  living,  seems  hardly  fair." 

"  We  may  not  always  have-  so  much  money,  and 
it  is  well  for  Annie  to  know  how  to  take  care  of  her- 
self, and  I  am  sure  we  do  not  feel  ourselves  disgraced 
by  it,"  Mrs.  Danely  answered,  pleasantly. 

"Well,  Helen,"  replied  her  friend,  "I  presume 
it 's  all  right ;  but  you  did  n't  talk  like  this  during 


254  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

our  school  days.  Do  you  remember  how  you  used 
to  talk  about  the  sphere  of  woman  ?"  The  two 
friends  joined  in  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  remembrance 
of  some  of  their  school-girl  talk  about  the  dignity  of 
woman. 

"Yes,  I  remember  all  about  it;  but,  my  dear 
Annie,  I  have  learned  a  good  many  things  in  the 
past  twenty  years,  and  my  ideas  have  undergone  a 
change.  I  have  seen  the  wheel  of  fortune  cast  off 
a  good  many  who  once  had  an  abundance  of  wealth. 
And  because  of  their  wealth  they  had  never  consid- 
ered it  necessary  to  teach  their  daughters  any  prac- 
tical lessons.  But  poverty  came,  and  these  daughters 
must  go  out  to  earn  their  own  living.  A  false  notion 
of  dignity  prevented  their  seeking  a  position  where 
manual  labor  was  required,  and  the  only  alternative 
was  to  eke  out  a  sort  of  half  existence  teaching  a 
private  school,  or  trudging  from  house  to  house 
teaching  music  to  girls  who  take  lessons  because 
it  is  the  fashion,  and  not  because  they  have  a  talent 
for  or  love  music  for  itself.  Then,  again,  I  have 
seen  women  left  with  a  family  of  helpless  children  to 
support.  Perfectly  ignorant  of  business,  their  little 
property  slipped  from  their  hands  into  the  pockets  of 
unprincipled  men,  who  are  always  at  hand  ready  to 
take  advantage  of  their  ignorance,  and  they  are  left 
to  earn  a  livelihood  for  their  families  by  the  needle  or 
the  wash-tub." 

"That  is,  no  doubt,  true,"  replied  Mrs.  Willis, 
slowly;  "and  yet  it  hardly  seems  worth  while  for 
you  to  borrow  trouble  as  to  your  future  or  Annie's." 

"I  know,  so  far  as  present  appearances  go,  noth- 


EARNING  HER  OWN  LIVING.  255 

ing  seems  more  unlikely  than  that  we  should  be  poor, 
but  if  such  should  be  the  case  and  Annie  sticks  to 
business  as  she  does  now,  I  will  not  be  under  the 
necessity  of  urging  her  to  marry  for  fear  she  will  be 
burdensome  to  us." 

"  But,  Helen,  you  surely  would  n't  want  Annie  to 
stay  single  all  her  life,  would  you?" 

' '  By  no  means ;  I  think  every  woman  would  be 
the  happier  for  having  a  home  and  a  family  about 
her«f"but  I  want  my  daughter  to  choose  for  herself, 
and  not  feel  obliged  to  accept  the  first  offer,  whether 
suitable  or  not,  for  fear  she  will  be  left  to  die  an  old 
maid.  I  would  like  to  see  the  day  when  every  Amer- 
ican boy  and  girl  will  be  compelled  to  learn  a  trade 
that  will  stand  them  in  the  hour  of  need ;  when  such 
is  the  case,  our  list  of  suffering  poor  will  be  lessened 
very  considerably." 

Mrs.  Willis  sat  silent  for  some  moments ;  at  length 
she  said:  "If  you  are  right,  then  I  am  afraid  I  have 
made  a  mistake  in  training  my  own  girls;  my  boys  are 
learning  their  father's  business,  but  I  doubt  whether 
the  girls  could  be  persuaded  to  undertake  what  your 
daughter  has  taken  up  of  her  own  accord." 

"I  would  not  advise  them  to  do  that  unless  un- 
der favorable  circumstances;  and  then  there  are  but 
few  like  Annie  in  taste  and  disposition.  But  I  would 
.have  them  learn  some  business  or  trade,  something 
for  which  they  may  seem  to  have  an  aptness,  and 
that  will  not  seem  to  them  mere  drudgery.  There 
come  Annie  and  her  brother,  now;  watch  her,  and 
tell  me  if  you  think  she  seems  less  a  lady  than  she 
did  a  year  ago." 


£56  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Annie  gave  her  mother's  friend  a  cordial  greet- 
ing, and  Mrs.  Willis  could  not  help  being  pleased 
with  the  dignified,  yet  earnest,  warm-hearted  girl. 

At  the  close  of  her1  visit,  she  said  to  Mrs.  Danely: 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  after  all;  and  I  only 
wish  my  Helen  took  hold  of  life  and  its  duties  as 
fearlessly  and  with  as  much  relish  as  your  Annie  does. 
I  do  n't  want  to  hear  a  word  against  'business  women ' 
after  this.  It  is  perfectly  wonderful  what  an  influence 
she  has  over  her  brother,  too ;  why,  he  defers  to  her 
opinion  as  if  she  were  ten  years  older, -instead  of  two 
years  younger,  than  he ;  and  she  seems  to  understand 
business  full  as  well  as  he  —  without  being  mannish, 
either." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  not  displeased  with  Annie," 
answered  Mrs.  Danely.  "I  think  the  fact  that  their 
education  has  been  so  near  alike  has  saved  Henry 
from  much  evil  influence;  he  is  inclined  to  be  wild, 
but  she  loves  the  same  kind  of  books  that  he  does, 
and  they  enjoy  them  together,  and  she  has  held  him 
back  and  shielded  him  from  evil,  while  the  restraint 
has  been  a  pleasure  to  him.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
my  dear  friend,  it  will  be  better  not  to  make  too  wide 
a  difference  in  the  education  of  our  sons  and  daugh- 
ters ;  and  you  will  find,  too,  that  both  will  be  hap- 
pier for  having  something  to  do  besides  amusing 
themselves  or  being  amused.  Poor  men's  children 
are  not  the  only  ones  who  need  to  be  busy." 


ETTER 


Aunt   Mabel ;    is  n't    she   sweet   as 
can  be?" 

And  Mrs.  Hunt  adjusted  the  sash  and 
smoothed  back  the  folds  of  the  skirt,  as  she 
turned  her  little  eight-year-old  "Gertie"  about, 
for  "Aunt  Mabel"  to  get  a  good  view  of  the 
dress  and  its  lovely  wearer. 

Mabel  Hunt  was  Mr.  Hunt's  maiden  sister, 
and  some  ten  years  older  than  her  sister-in-law, 
and,  though  she  possessed  a  very  attractive 
face,  coupled  with  gentle,  winning  manners, 
when  you  came  to  know  her  in  her  daily  life, 
you  in  some  way  ceased  to  wonder  as  to  why  she 
had  not  married,  and  began  wondering  how  she  could 
possibly  be  spared  from  the  place  she  already  occu- 
pied, that  of  elder  sister,  counselor,  and  ever-ready 
helper  to  all  who  needed  her  aid. 

In  answer  to  her  sister's  call,  Miss  Hunt  laid  down 
her  pen,  and  turned  to  look  at  the  little  figure  be- 
fore her.  . 

No  one  could  question  the  sweetness  of  the  face, 
nor  the  loveliness  of  the  figure;  but,  instead  of  an- 
swering the  mother's  appeal,  she  looked  at  the  child 
for  a  brief  moment,  and  then,  suddenly  reaching  out 
her  hands,  she  drew  her  to  herself,  imprinting  a  kiss 
on  each  rosy  cheek,  at  the  same  time  giving  her  a 


258  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS; 

look  that   had    in    it    more  of  pity  than  of  admira-' 
tion. 

"O  Aunt  Mabel,  don't  hug  me  so;  my  dress  will 
all  be  rumpled,  and  not  fit  for  the  party." 

And  Gertie  withdrew  herself  from  her  aunt's  arms, 
with  a  little  gesture  of  impatience,  as  she  smoothed 
the  folds  of  the  dress,  with  a  glance  toward  the 
mirror. 

The  mother  looked  inquiringly  at  her  sister's  so- 
ber face. 

"Do  n't  you  like  the  dress,  Mabel?  Is  n't  it 
stylish?" 

"Yes,"  absently,  "very  stylish;"  then  as  Gertie 
ran  off  to  show  the  dress  to  Katie,  and  receive  her 
extravagant  praises,  she  added,  "almost  stylish 
enough  for  the  stage,  but  it  is  not  exactly  such  as  I 
would  choose  for  Gertie." 

"  Why,  sister,  I  thought  you  liked  to  see  children 
dressed  nicely." 

"So  I  do — nicely  and  suitably;  but  it  hardly 
seems  appropriate  for  a  child  of  eight  years  to  be 
dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  fashionable  young  lady." 

"  But  it  is  all  the  style  now  to  dress  the  children 
just  as  nearly  like  grown  folks  as  possible." 

"  It  may  be  the  style,  but  I  do  n't  admire  it  any 
more  for  that.  Men  and  women  thirty-six  inches 
high  may  serve  to  amuse  us,  as  we  look  at  other 
curiosities,  but  they  are  only  deformities,  and  untrue 
to  nature." 

"  O,  you  dear,  whimsical  old  maid,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Hunt,  giving  Mabel  a  playful  little  caress,  as 
she  took  her  seat  and  sewing ;  "if  you  had  a  hus- 


WHICH  is  THE  BETTER  WAY?  259 

band  and  three  or  four  children  about  you,  as  I  have, 
you  would  be  very  apt  to  do  as  I  do,  and  try  to  dress 
your  children  as  your  friends  dress  theirs." 

"Perhaps  so  ;  but  it  would  not  be  the  right  thing 
to  do,  if  it  was  to  make  them  unnatural,"  responded 
Miss  Hunt. 

"Come,  now,  if  you  are  going  to  preach,  don't 
stop  with  merely  announcing  your  text ;  please  give 
us  your  reasons,"  said  the  sister,  with  a  smile  of  evi- 
dent unbelief. 

"I  am  perfectly  willing,  if  you  really  wish  to  know. 
SoTne  one  has  said  '  Dress  a  man  like  a  gentleman, 
and,  ten  chances  to  one,  he  will  act  like  a  gentle- 
man,' and  if  you  dress  a  child  like  a  fashionable 
young  lady,  she  will  be  very  apt  to  try  to  act  like 
one ;  a  little  child,  dressed  as  a  child,  will  be  a  child, 
unless  her  head  has  been  filled  with  nonsense  by  oth- 
ers. It  is  n't  natural  for  a  child  to  care  more  for  her 
clothes  than  for  the  caresses  of  those  she  loves,  and 
I  am  sure  I  would  rather  see  Gertie  digging  wells  or 
making  mud  pies,  in  the  back  yard,  than  flirting  a 
fan  at  an  evening  party,  tiptoeing  across  the  room, 
with  anxious  glances  toward  the  looking-glass,  to  see 
if  her  over-dress  is  looped  gracefully." 

' '  But,  really,  Mabel,  I  do  not  want  to  crowd  my 
children  forward  or  spoil  them ;  I  love  them  too 
dearly  for  that,"  Mrs.  Hunt  replied,  earnestly. 

"Of  course,  you  love  them,  and  there  lies  the 
danger.  If  mothers  could  always  love  'wisely,'  and 
not  'too  well,'  there  would  not  be  the  danger  of  over- 
indulgence and  over-praise  ;  but  it  is  next  to  impos- 
sible for  a  child,  to  be  flattered  continually  by  those 


260  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

she  loves  and  others  with  whom  she  associates,  and 
not  be  spoiled  by  it,  sooner  or  later.  If  she  is  told 
several  times  a  day  that  she  is  a  '  beauty '  and  the 
'sweetest  child  in  the  world,'  it  will  be  a  great  won- 
der if  she  does  n't  come,  by  and  by,  to  believe  it 
herself,  and  to  find  this  flattery  a  necessity  to  her 
happiness." 

' '  Well,  whatever  may  be  said  of  your  argument, 
you  are  certainly  very  candid!" 

And  Mrs.  Hunt's  tone  showed  that  she  had  made 
a  personal  application  of  the  illustration. 

"I  hope  you  and  I  love  each  other  too  dearly  to 
be  otherwise  than  candid  in  our  intercourse  with  one 
another,"  answered  Mabel,  gently.  "I  know  it 
sounds  '  old  fogyish '  for  me  to  talk  about  how  things 
were  when  I  was  young,  but  there  are  some  things 
to-day  that  I  can  not  think  an  improvement  on  the 
past.  I  dearly  love  a  real  child,  and  not  a  child  who 
is  trying  to  act  the  part  of  a  young  man  or  woman. 
The  daughter  of  to-day  scarcely  seems  to  have  any 
girlhood  at  all ;  it  is  simply  a  skip  from  the  long 
clothes  of  the  cradle  to  the  longer  ones  of  the  trained 
evening  dress  of  the  fashionable  lady.  Instead  of 
the  ten-year-old  girl  eating  a  plain,  wholesome  sup- 
per and  going  to  bed  in  time  to  get  the  sleep  and 
rest  that  will  help  her  to  grow  into  a  strong,  health- 
ful and  helpful  woman — mentally  and  physically,  such 
as  the  world  needs — she  must  sit  up  until  midnight, 
frequently  eating  indigestible  food  at  unseasonable 
hours,  while  she  is  kept  under  a  continuous  strain  of 
nervous  excitement,  and  forming  habits  that  will,  in 
a  greater  or  less  measure,  mar  her  whole  future  life." 


WHICH  is  THE  BETTER  WAV?  261 

"You  ought  to  be  on  the  list  of  the  Lecture 
Bureau,  Mabel,"  smiling  at  her  sister's  earnestness. 

"I  beg  pardon  for  intruding  my  opinions  upon 
you,  but  I  have  spent  considerable  of  my  life  among 
the  children,  and,  though  I  am  only  an  'old  maid,' 
my  observations  in  the  school-room  and  elsewhere 
have  confirmed  me  in  the  belief  that  'society'  is 
shortening  the  lives  and  marring  the  usefulness  of  the 
children,  especially  the  daughters.  We  were  all 
justly  incensed  at  a  certain  spiritualist,  who  kept  his 
little  daughter  up  night  after  night,  while  he  hum- 
bugged the  people  with  his  'seances,'  pretending 
that  the  child  received  communications  from  de- 
ceased friends  of  those  who  were  willing  to  be  de- 
ceived ;  and  when  the  child  died  from  sheer  physical 
and  mental  exhaustion  before  she  reached  her  fifth 
year,  we  all  shook  our  heads  and  said,  as  it  is  usually 
safe  to  say  after  an  event  has  occurred,  '  Just  as  I 
expected.'  The  nervous  and  physical  strain  was  too 
much  for  her  years,  and  overtaxed  nature  gave  way. 
But  while  we  censure  these  parents  for  exposing  the 
life  of  their  child  for  the  gains  of  sorcery,  are  not 
those  mothers  who  permit  their  little  children  to  turn 
night  into  day,  teaching  them  to  appear  what  they 
are  not,  recreant  to  the  trust  confided  to  them  in  the 
care  of  an  immortal  soul  ?  It  is  the  duty  of  parents 
and  teachers  to  so  train  their  children  that  they  may 
be  of  the  greatest  possible  benefit  to  the  world.  But 
if  they  are  allowed  to  form  habits  that  will  undermine 
the  health,  they  certainly  can  not  be  as  useful  as  they 
would  have  been  with  a  perfectly  developed  and 
healthy  organism." 


262  STORIES  OF.  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"I  am  afraid  you  aio  developing  into  a  regular 
utilitarian,  Mabel.  There  are  some  things  for  beauty, 
others  for  usefulness." 

"No;  I  am  not  utilitarian — at  least,  not  in  its 
offensive  sense.  And  as  to  beauty,  I  can  not  con- 
ceive of  any  thing  more  beautiful  than  a  perfectly 
developed  and  healthy  physical  frame  united  with  a 
well-regulated  mind.  If  a  woman  is  perfectly  well, 
she  will  be  happier  herself,  and  will  make  others 
happier,  than  she  could  if  she  were  suffering  constant 
bodily  pain  or  weakness.  It  is  all  very  well  to  point 
us  to  those  instances  of  intense  physical  suffering  in 
which  the  sufferer  could  so  far  subdue  self  or  forget 
herself  as  to  pass  through  years  of  physical  suffering 
with  perfect  tranquillity,  and  to  prove  a  blessing  to 
those  around  her ;  but  that  is  the  result  of  divine 
grace,  and  not  the  natural  consequence ;  and  the  man 
or  woman  who  has  grace  enough  to  be  patient,  and 
even  cheerful,  under  such  circumstances,  would,  with 
divine  grace  and  a  healthy  body,  be  likely,  to  be  a 
great  deal  more  cheerful  and  helpful.  We^like  to 
shift  our  responsibilities  to  others'  shoulders.  Indul- 
gent and  doting  mothers  will  allow  their  daughters  to 
spend  their  girlhoods'  brief  years  in  one  continual 
round  of  excitement,  and  if  at  the  age  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  the  overstrain  cause  the  silver  cord  to  break, 
they  bow  their  heads  in  sorrow,  and  wonder  why  she 
'  died  so  early, '  when  the  only  real  wonder  is  that  the 
human  frame  could  endure,  even  for  that  short  time, 
the  continual  tax.  There  are  many  cases  of  so-called 
dispensations  of  Providence,  which  are  but  the  natu- 
ral consequences  of  a  violation  of  the  laws  of  health." 


WHICH  is  THE  BETTER  WAY?  263 

"But  what  can  I  do  ?  If  I  do  not  allow  my 
children  to  dress  and  to  do  as  my  neighbors'  children 
do,  I  will  be  criticised  and  censured  as  over-strict;" 
and  Mrs.  Hunt  looked  really  perplexed. 

"You  have  a  conscience  of  your  own,  I  trust, 
sister.  Because  your  neighbors  choose  to  murder 
their  daughters  by  a  system  of  slow  torture,  I  do  not 
see  that  you,  therefore,  should  do  the  same  by  your 
daughter.  Find,  or  try  to  find,  what  is  best  for  your 
children,  and  then  have  the  courage  to  put  your  con- 
victions into  practice  ;  and  even  though  your  friends 
may"  not  approve  of  your  course,  you  will  receive 
the  gratitude  of  your  children  when  they  shall  have 
become  old  enough  to  appreciate  your  motive  and 
judgment." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  wearily;  "perhaps  you 
are  in  the  right.  I  wish  I  knew  just  what  I  ought 
to  do ;  but  where  can  Gertie  have  gone  ?  I  had  for- 
gotten about  her.  She  will  ruin  that  dress,  and  then 
she  will  have  to  miss  the  party  to-night."  And  Mrs. 
Hunt  hastily  threw  down  her  sewing,  and  went  in 
search  of  the  absent  child,  not  even  waiting  to  reply 
to  her  sister-in-law's  declaration  that  "both  events 
would  be  a  blessing  for  the  child." 


0AREFUL  AND  ^ROUBLED  5^BOUT  ^f  ANY 
MHINGS." 

A 


iRS.  ELLIOT  had  just  heard  the  last  little 
one  say  its  evening  prayer,  kissed  all 
three  "good-night"  for  the  second  or 
third  time,  and  had  finally  succeeded  in  quieting 
the  restless  ones,  rendered  unusually  so  by  the 
sultry  atmosphere  of  a  July  evening.  Then  she 
returned  to  the  parlor,  where  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Martin,  who  had  arrived  only  that  afternoon, 
sat  rocking  and  resting  in  the  dim  twilight. 
Mrs.  Elliot  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  seated 
herself  on  the  stool  at  her  sister's  feet,  with  an 
arm  laid  across  that  sister's  knee.  ' '  There, 
the  prattlers  are  in  bed  and  asleep  at  last ;  and  now 
for  an  old-time  talk,  Martha.  I  wonder  how  father 
and  mother  could  have  made  such  a  blunder  as  to 
call  you  Martha.  I  am  sure  you  never  seem  '  careful 
or  troubled  about  many  things, '  nor  '  cumbered  with 
much  serving,'  like  the  rest  of  us.  But,  now,  let  us 
hope  we  shall  have  one  hour  together  without  inter- 
ruption." 

"I  suppose  if  some  one  should  need  you  very 
much,  you  could  forego  the  pleasures  of  our  little 
chat,  could  you  not  ?"  asked  the  sister,  quietly. 

"Yes;    but,  I  fear,  not  very  willingly ;    and  that 


"CAREFUL  AND  TROUBLED  ABOUT  MANY  THINGS."  265 

suggests  a  topic  for  discussion,  one  that  has  been  in 
my  thoughts  on  a  good  many  occasions,  and  I  am 
anxious  for  the  benefit  of  your  opinion.  Why  is  it 
that,  at  the  very  time  my  heart  is  '  set '  on  doing 
some  particular  thing,  something  else,  that  my  heart 
was  not  '  set '  on  doing,  comes  up,  and  either  pre- 
vents my  doing  it  at  all,  or  hinders  me,  so  that  it  is 
only  by  combating  difficulties  of  the  most  obsti- 
nate character  that  I  succeed  in  accomplishing  my 
purpose?" 

"  For  instance?" 

"  Well,  for  instance,  yesterday,  just  as  I  had  suc- 
ce£ded  in  quieting  the  house,  and  had  seated  myself 
to  \vrite  a  short  article  for  our  county  paper,  in 
comes  John,  and  wants  to  know  if  I  can  't  shorten 
the  sleeves  of  his  dressing-gown.  '  Only  five  minutes' 
work,  Jennie,'  as  he  saw  me  lay  down  my  pen  a 
little  regretfully.  It  took  me  a  full  hour,  and  then 
baby  woke  and  had  to  be  cared  for.  Then  callers 
and  tea-time  came,  pretty  close  together,  too.  After 
tea,  callers  again  ;  and  then  the  children  must  be  put 
to  bed  ;  and  after  that  I  was  too  tired  to  do  any 
thing  but  rest.  If  I  plan  for  a  week  of  genuine  com- 
fort with  my  books — and  you  know  I  must  read  if  I 
Avould  instruct  my  children — no  sooner  do  I  think 
every  thing  is  in  order  than  I  suddenly  discover  that 
Hallie  is  out  at  the  knees  and  must  have  a  new  suit, 
or  Lulu's  wardrobe  needs  'fixing  up,'  or  my  'girl' 
gets  it  into  her  head  to  go  home.  '  Me  mither  is 
awful  sick,  shure ;  and  would*  I  be  kind  enough  to 
let  her  go  home  just  for  a  week,  to  look  afther  her?' 
Of  course  I  can  not  say  '  No,'  and  I  close  my  books 
23 


266  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

with  a  disappointed  sigh,  tie  on  my  kitchen  apron, 
and  proceed  to  assume  the  duties  of  mistress  of  the 
hous«  and  maid  of  all  work.  Now,  why  can  't  I  have 
the  privilege  of  a  week's  rest,  and  feast  without  this 
continued  interruption?" 

"I  suppose  it  is  because  you  have  more  irons  in 
the  fire  than  you  can  attend  to  easily,  and  so  you 
have  extra  work  and  care." 

"  But  I  love  to  read  and  I  love  to  write,  and  some- 
times I  feel  as  if  were  almost  starving  for  lack  of 
intellectual  food  ;  and  it  is  a  trial  to  have  to  deny 
one's  self  the  luxury  of  scribbling  a  few  scattering 
ideas  on  paper  occasionally.  It  is  said  of  Fannie 
Fern  that,  during  a  period  of  fourteen  years,  she 
never  failed  for  a  single  week  to  have  her  article  for 
the  Ledger  ready  on  time,  and  I  don't  wonder  that 
Grace  Greenwood  should  want  her  to  enlighten  her 
sisters  as  to  how  she  managed  things  and  met  all  her 
engagements.  Now,  my  luck  is  about  like  this :  I 
receive  a  card  from  my  editor,  asking  if  'that  story' 
is  almost  ready,  when  I  haven't  written  a  sentence 
of  it.  Down  I  sit  to  write  it.  Presently  John 
comes  in  with  letter  which  states  that  Mr.  So-and-so 
and  his  wife  will  be  in  on  the  evening  train  and  can 
only  remain  a  few  days." 

"As  this  afternoon,"  suggested  Mrs.  Martin, 
slyly. 

"  Now,  sister,  you  know  that  I  am  just  as  glad  as 
can  be  to  have  you  here,  and  I  intend  to  keep  you 
as  long  as  possible,  by  way  of  proving  it,"  remon- 
strated Mrs.  Elliot.  "But  you  interrupted  me  in 
my  story.  O,  yes :  I  shove  paper  and  pen  into  the 


"CAREFUL  AND  TROUBLED  ABOUT  MANY  THINGS.''  267 

desk,  and  proceed  to  plan  a  bill  of  fare,  for  I  must 
have  something  nice  for  my  company  to  eat,  and  I 
either  write  my  story  while  other  people  sleep,  or  let 
some  more  fortunate  sister  send  her  story  'on  time,' 
and  get  the  pay  for  it  while  I  wait." 

"Wouldn't  your  friends  be  just  as  happy  with- 
out so  much  extra  effort  on  your  part  for  their 
comfort?" 

"  May  be  so;  but  you  know  people  have  formed 
the  idea  in  some  way,  that  if  a  woman  scribbles  a 
little  for  the  press,  her  house  must  of  necessity  be 
always  turned  topsy-turvy,  her  bread  stale,  and  the 
coffee  muddy,  and  I  am  determined  they  shall  have 
no  reason  for  saying  that  I  neglect  my  house." 

"  At  the  risk  of  over-taxing  yourself,  ruining  your 
health,  and — and  temper?"  inquired  Mrs.  -Martin. 

"I  hope  not;  but  I  am  not  the  only  one  who 
feels  so.  Now,  there  is  my  friend,  Mrs.  W.  She 
was  called  into  the  temperance  work  during  the  cru- 
sade, and  has  been  lecturing  ever  since.  God  has 
wonderfully  blessed  her  labors  in  saving  the  drunk- 
ard ;  but  she  says  she  must  keep  her  children  neatly 
dressed  always,  and  her  table  must  not  be  lacking  in 
any  way,  and  she  must  entertain  strangers  often, 
though  the  angels  come  but  once  in  a  life-time.  She 
did  n't  say  any  thing  about  the  angels,  but  I  presume 
she  has  looked  for  them  long  and  patiently ;  and  in 
order  to  do  all  that  she  feels  she  must  do  all  she  can 
to  keep  up  the  'reputation  of  the  house,'  she  must 
'work  half  the  nights  when  she  is  at  home  to  atone 
for  her  absence." 

"And  give  her  husband  the  privilege  of  hunting 


268          STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

up  a  step-mother  for  his  children  in  less  than  ten 
years,  in  all  probability." 

"Perhaps  so.  But  you  haven't  told  me  what  I 
ought  to  do,  nor  how  I  am  to  manage  so  as  to  have 
things  the  way  I  want  them." 

"Did  you  ever  know  any  who  had  things  just 
as  they  wanted  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"Perhaps  if  you  were  to  know  them  better  you 
would  think  differently.  Do  you  know  that  I,  your 
elder  sister,  have  always  thought  you  had  such  a 
wonderful  faculty  for  getting  along  smoothly,  and 
writing  your  delightful  little  yarns  at  the  same  time? 
I  did  n't  dream  you  were  troubled  at  all,  and  here  you 
are,  pouring  out  a  perfect  Jeremiad  about  your  hin- 
derances,  and  I  find  you  are  just  as  much  perplexed 
and  worried  as  others." 

"And  that  doesn't  comfort  me  a  particle.  I  see 
other  women  whose  time  is  not  cut  up  into  odds  and 
ends  like  mine.  They  seem  to  have  some  sort  of 
system  about  their  work,  while  mine  is  done  just  as 
it  happens;  very  frequently  it  is  a  regular  assortment 
of  work  that  is  not  assorted  at  all.  Just  look  at  my 
sitting-room  now  if  you  choose,  and  examine  my 
work-table.  Bits  of  paper  written  over  in  part  with 
pen  and  in  part  with  pencil ;  spools  of  thread,  needles, 
thimbles,  blotting  paper,  rubber  erasers,  buttons,  en- 
velopes, scraps  of  embroidery,  etc.,  all  mixed  in 
endless  confusion,"  and  Mrs.  Elliot's  laugh  sounded 
as  if  her  trouble  was  not  at  all  a  laughing  matter. 

"Sister,  dear,  if  all  this  troubles  you  so,  why 
don't  you  quit  'scribbling,'  as  you  call  it?" 


"  CAREFUL  AND  TROUBLED  ABOUT  MANY  THINGS?"  269 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  I  love  it?  It  is  the  one 
thing  that  I  really  enjoy.  It  doesn't  amount  to 
much  either  intellectually  or  financially,  but  then  it  is 
a  comfort  to  be  allowed  the  privilege  of  expressing 
an  opinion  ;  besides  it  is  a  relief  to  get  it  off  your 
mind  ;  and,  like  most  other  people,  if  a  luxury  costs 
a  good  deal,  I  am  all  the  more  loath  to  give  it  up." 

"Well,  if  that  is  your  decision,  stick  to  it;  and 
as  'hard  things'  are  said  to  be  'good  for  folks,'  I 
presume  these  interruptions,  that  are  so  trying  to  the 
patience,  will  do  you  good.  You  will  bear  them 
better.,  by  and  by." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  but  it  seems  a  slow  way  to  learn,  and 
not  a  very  pleasant  way  either,"  sighed  Mrs.  Elliot. 

' '  Nevertheless,  you  will  learn,  though  it  be  but 
slowly ;  and  by  constantly  struggling  with  obstacles 
we  gain  strength.  If  you  were  to  have  your  own 
way,  you  would  be  likely  to  grow  selfish." 

"  I  am  selfish,  goodness  knows  !  .The  only  trouble 
is,  I  don't  have  the  opportunity  to  make  it  manifest." 

"Granting,  for  argument's  sake,  that  you  are  a 
little  selfish,  the  fact  that  you  are  conscious  of  that 
defect  in  your  character  is  a  very  favorable  indication. 
The  majority  of  our  selfish  people  seem  wholly  un- 
conscious of  the  fact.  Keep  on,  doing  the  work  that 
lies  nearest  to  your  hand,  and  if  it  should  not  be  just 
the  kind  of  work  you  would  choose,  do  it  to  the  best 
of  your  ability,  and  the  time  will  come  when  you 
will  receive  the  'well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant,' 
and  the  joy  you  will  feel  jn  the  Master's  approbation 
will  fully  recompense  you  for  these  little  annoyances 
which  are  such  a  perplexity  to  you  to-day." 


0HARLES  ]Vf ITCHELL'S 


HANKSGIVING  and  Prayer,"  repeated 
Charles  Mitchell  impatiently,  as,  thrusting 
into    his    pocket   the    daily    containing    the 
President's    proclamation,  he  looked   about  to 
see  if  things  were  in  order  preparatory  to  going 
home  for  the  night. 

"There  are  a  good  many  things  I  might 
pray  for  if  I  thought  there  was  any  probability 
of  my  prayers  being  answered ;  but  as  to  thanks- 
giving, there  is  precious  little  reason  for  thank- 
fulness on  my  part  this  year,"  muttered  the 
young  man  half-aloud,  then,  as  if  suddenly  recollect- 
ing himself,  "But  what  would  Annie  say  if  she 
should  hear  me  talking  like  this?"  and  buttoning  his 
overcoat  closely  about  his  chest  he  prepared  to  face 
the  sharp  November  sleet  that  seemed  to  pierce  and 
chill  the  whole  frame. 

A  long  walk  through  the  storm  did  not  serve  to 
assist  his  better  feelings  to  rise  above  the  discourage- 
ments that  were  perplexing  his  mind,  and  when  he 
reached  his  home  it  was  with  the  bitter,  dissatisfied 
feeling  in  his  heart  that  Providence. had  not  granted 
him  the  favors  and  the  successes  he  deserved.  As 
he  looked  at  the  pale,  careworn  face  of  his  wife,  the 
thought  came  with  increased  bitterness,  "Thankful 
for  what?  That  Annie  is  wearing  out  her  life  because 
I  can  not  afford  to  pay  for  proper  help,  I  suppose." 


CHARLES  MITCHELL'S  THANKSGIVING.  271 

The  wife  saw  his  preoccupied  and  gloomy  look 
during  the  evening  meal,  but  she  made  no  comment, 
thinking,  "It  will  soon  pass  away;  he  is  tired,  and 
this  dreary  weather  is  enough  to  make  one  gloomy." 

During  the  evening  Mrs.  Mitchell  picked  up  the 
daily  which  her  husband  had  laid  upon  the  table,  and 
her  eyes  fell  upon  the  "Thanksgiving  proclamation." 
What  memories  it  awakened !  How  her  thoughts 
carried  her  back  to  the  old  home  with  all  its  tender 
associations.  Father,  mother,  brothers,  and  sisters, 
with  smiling  faces  and  happy  hearts,  gathering  about 
the^bounteous  board ;  the  prayer  and  thanksgiving 
formed  into  words  by  the  father,  or  it  may  be  the 
pastor,  to  which  each  heart  responded  a  fervent 
Amen.  But  this  was  all  over  now,  and  she  far  away 
from  those  who  had  helped  to  make  Thanksgiving 
such  a  blessed,  joyous  day.  Some  had  already 
passed  over  to  the  "other  side,"  and  though  she 
tried  to  repress  them,  the  tears  would  come.  When 
she  could  trust  her  voice,  she  said : 

' '  Charles,  Thanksgiving  will  be  here  in  three 
weeks.  How  shall  we  celebrate  it?" 

"By  making  a  feast  for  our  fair-weather  friends, 
I  suppose,"  was  the  husband's  answer,  with  more 
of  bitterness  in  his  tone  than  he  was  probably  aware 
of.  The  pained  and  startled  look  on  his  wife's  face 
aroused  him,  and  he  added  apologetically,  "We  are 
too  poor  to  keep  Thanksgiving  this  year,  Annie." 

"We  can  not  keep  it  in  the  style  of  a  few  years 
ago;  but,  Charles,  I  do  not  like  it  to  pass  unob- 
served, for  the  children's  sake,  if  not  for  our  own." 

"  Precious  little  cause   have  we  or   the    children 


272  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

for  keeping  Thanksgiving,"  the  old  bitterness  rising 
in  his  heart  again;  "with  you  working  yourself  to 
death,  and  the  children  only  half-clothed." 

• "  O,  no,  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  Annie  an- 
swered eagerly.  "  I  do  have  to  work  hard,  but  I  am 
glad  I  have  the  strength ;  the  children  are  well,  and 
if  they  can  not  have  luxuries,  they  are  at  least  com- 
fortable, and  if  our  home  is  very  small  and  humble, 
it  is  ours,  and  that  is  something  to  be  thankful  for. 
But  I  can  not  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so ;  it  does  n't 
sound  at  all  like  you,  Charles,"  and  the  tears  gath- 
ered in  her  eyes. 

"I  know  it  doesn't  sound  like  me,  as  you  say; 
but  I  tell  you,  Annie,  I  almost  doubt  sometimes  if 
there  is  a  God,  or  if  there  is  one,  if  he  cares  whether 
his  creatures  try  to  please  him  or  not.  There," 
as  Annie  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  interrupt  him, 
"don't  talk  to  me  about  it.  I  am  holding  my  pres- 
ent position  by  the  day,  and  should  not  be  surprised 
any  day  if  the  firm  should  tell  me  they  could  not 
afford  to  employ  me  any  longer."  And  then,  as  if  to 
shut  off  a/iy  further  conversation,  he  turned  to  his 
book  and  tried  to  fix  his  mind  on  its  contents.  Mrs. 
Mitchell  slipped  away  to  her  room  to  hide  her  sor- 
row there ;  sorrow,  not  so  much  for  the  reverses 
that  had  come  to  them  through  the  general  financial 
depression,  as  that  her  husband  was  allowing  his 
financial  troubles  to  shake  his  faith  in  the  loving- 
kindness  of  an  all-wise  heavenly  Father.  As  she 
looked  upon  her  little  ones,  sleeping  so  sweetly,  she 
could  but  feel  her  heart  go  out  in  gratitude  to  God 
that  these  had  been  spared  her,  and  that  he  had  seen 


CHARLES  MITCHELL'S  THANKSGIVING.  273 

fit  to  allow  their  money  to  slip  away  from  them 
rather  than  that  these  precious  treasures,  their  chil- 
dren, should  be  given  up. 

The  following  morning  Mrs.  Mitchell  arose  with 
a  strange  ringing  in  her  ears,  and  with  such  a  sensa- 
tion of  dizziness  that  she  could  scarcely  steady  her 
steps  sufficiently  to  prepare  the  morning  meal.  I 
must  not  give  up,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Charles 
must  have  his  meals  regularly  and  in  order.  He 
misses  the  luxuries  of  other  days  more  than  I  do, 
and  I  must  make  it  up  to  him  if  I  can." 

-The  breakfast  was.  tempting  enough  to  Charles 
and  the  children,  but  she  had  no  appetite  for  food,  and 
her  husband  was  too  much  engrossed  with  his  own 
thoughts  to  notice  that  she  did  not  eat,  and  with  a 
hurried  good-bye  he  went  away  to  his  business. 

Little  Nellie  remained  from  school  to  care  for 
"Baby,"  for  the  mother  felt  that  she  had  not  the 
strength  to  prepare  dinner  and  give  the  little  prattler 
the  attention  necessary.  It  was  well  for  him  that 
Nellie  stayed  at  home,  for- when  dinner  was  but  half 
ready  Mrs.  Mitchell  was  obliged  to  lie  down,  and 
when  her  husband  returned  he  found  her  burning 
with  fever  and  talking  incoherently  of  mother,  home, 
and  Thanksgiving.  A  physician  was  called  at  once, 
but  the  over-taxed  system  did  not  readily  yield  to 
the  influence  of  medicines,  and  in  a  few  days  the 
mother  and  sister  were  called  from  a  distant  State  to 
watch  over  the  dear  one  who  had  toiled  beyond  her 
strength  that  her  family  might  not  miss  the  luxuries 
of  better  days. 

For  many  days  she  seemed  to  hover  between  life 


274  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

and  death,  and  as  Thanksgiving  drew  near  the  hus- 
band recalled  the  conversation  of  the  evening  previ- 
ous to  her  sudden  attack ;  and  as  he  thought  of 
what  that  day  might  be  to  him  and  his  little  ones, 
he  lifted  his  heart,  crushed  and  bleeding,  to  Him 
whose  providence  he  had  blamed,  and  whose  exist- 
ence he  had  even  tried  to  doubt,  and  prayed  for  for- 
giveness and  help  in  his  great  need. 

When  the  financial  crash,  under  which  so  many 
prosperous  men  went  down,  had  overwhelmed  them, 
Mitchell's  proud  spirit  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
having  their  straitened  circumstances  made  known  to 
his  wife's  family,  and  so,  during  the  past  year,  An- 
nie had  not  urged  her  mother  and  sister  to  visit  her, 
much  as  her  heart  had  hungered  for  their  society,  for 
Charles,  without  intending  to  be  selfish,  had  said : 

"Let  us  wait  until  times  are  better;  I  can  not 
bear  that  they  should  see  our  poverty." 

And  Annie  had  crushed  back  the  longing  of  her 
heart,  and  waited. 

Now,  when  mother  and  sister  bent  over  her  with 
anxious  watchfulness,  she  did  not  recognize  them  ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  poor,  tired  spirit  would  leave 
the  clay  tenement  without  giving  them  the  look  or 
word  of  recognition  for  which  they  were  longing  and 
praying. 

Thanksgiving  eve  came,  and  the. physician  said: 
"To-night  will  decide  her  case;  she  may  be  spared 
to  you  and  your  little  ones,  but  you  had  better  pre- 
pare for  the  worst." 

In  an  agony  of  suspense  they  watched  and  waited, 
while  the  words  "Precious  little  cause  have  we  for 


CHARLES  MITCHELL'S  THANKSGIVING.  275 

thankfulness,"  spoken  so  bitterly  on  that  evening 
three  weeks  previous,  kept  ringing  in  the  husband's 
ears.  How  deeply  he  repented  those  murmurings 
now. 

"Why  could  I  not  see  how  good  God  was  in 
giving  me  such  a  companion  ?  and  why  should  I 
have  complained  so  long  as  my  wife  and  children 
were  spared  to  me?" 

And  with  throbbing  heart  he  watched  through 
the  early  hours  of  the  night.  What  change  will 
the  night  bring — life  or  death  ? 

^Gradually  the  fever  left  her,  and  she  became  quiet 
from  sheer  prostration  ;  then  she  seemed  to  sink  into 
a  sleep,  fitful  at  first,  but  at  last  she  slept  quietly, 
and  the  watchers  could  only  wait  and  pray. 

One  o'clock,  and  still  she  slept.  At  two,  the  phy- 
sician, who  had  remained  in  the  house,  came  to  her 
bedside  and  watched  her  for  an  hour. 

How  much  Mitchell  wanted  to  ask  the  question, 
"Will  she  live?"  yet  he  dared  not,  for  fear  the  an- 
swer would  crush  out  all  his  hopes. 

But  as  they  watched,  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
quiet,  regular  breathing,  and  the  physician  pronounced 
the  crisis  past,  and  said:  "She  will  live." 

Thanksgiving  dawned,  but  O,  so  different  from 
what  they  had  feared  on  the  previous  day,  or  from 
what  Charles  Mitchell  had  expected  three  weeks 
before. 

The  precious  patient  was  better,  but  very  weak, 
and  it  would  require  days,  and  perhaps  weeks,  of 
careful  nursing  before  she  would  be  able  to  take  her 
accustomed  place  in  her  family. 


276  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

But  all  that  chill  November  day,  though  the 
house  was  hushed  and  each  one  stepped  with  careful 
tread,  for  fear  the  dear  one  should  be  disturbed,  yet 
from  one  heart,  at  least,  humbled  and  chastened 
though  it  was,  there  went  up  a  psalm  of  thanksgiv- 
ing and  praise: 

"O  Lord,  I  will  praise  thee:  though  thou  wast 
angry  with  me,  thine  anger  is  turned  away,  and  now 
thou  comfortest  me." 

And  to  the  heart  of  the  husband  these  words 
came  with  a  meaning  they  never  had  before. 

Three  weeks  after,  Mrs.  Mitchell,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  her  husband  for  support,  entered  their  little 
sitting-room,  for  the  first  time  since  her  illness. 

As  he  placed  her  in  the  arm-chair,  before  the  fire, 
Mitchell  said : 

"Annie,  the  past  three  weeks  have  been  to  me 
one  continued  thanksgiving  to  God  that  he  has  spared 
your  life ;  and  I  have  been  enabled  to  see  how  much 
above  wealth  or  worldly  position  is  the  precious  gift 
of  a  faithful  and  loving  companion  and  children  ;  and 
while  he  spares  my  life,  I  hope  I  may  never  so  far 
forget  his  mercies  as  to  say  I  have  nothing  to  b» 
thankful  for." 

And  on  that  evening,  as  the  reunited  family 
bowed  at  the  family  altar,  husband  and  wife  lifted 
their  hearts  in  gratitude  to  God  for  those  blessings 
which  wealth  and  worldly  favor  can  not  buy — health 
and  loving  hearts. 


CHRISTMAS. 


bHAT  a  buzz  there  was  when,  at  the  close 
of  the   Sabbath  school,    the   superintend- 
ent announced  that  the  officers  and  teach- 
ers had  decided  to  have  a  Christmas  tree. 

Outside  the  church  door,  a  group  of  boys 
gathered  to  talk  over  the  prospective  fun  and 
to  interchange  opinions. 

"I  think  it  will  be  jolly, "  said  Dick  Hollow- 
bush  ;   ' '  that  is,  if  I  get  all  I  have  been  wish- 
¥  ing  for." 

Jw 

•f  "If  Dick  gets  all  he  's  wishing  for,  there 
V  will  be  no  room  on  the  tree  for  any  of  our 
wishes,"  objected  a  boy  at  Dick's  elbow. 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this  little  thrust, 
for  Dick's  habit  of  wishing  for  almost  every  thing  he 
saw,  and  for  a  great  many  things  that  he  had  never 
seen,  was  no  secret  to  his  schoolmates. 

They  finally  agreed  that  "a  Christmas  tree  would 
be  jollier  than  a  concert." 

But  while  the  merry  group  were  talking  over  the 
"good  time  coming,"  there  was  one  who.  though  an 
interested  listener,  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conver- 
sation. As  he  stood  leaning,  against  the  corner  of 
the  church,  trying  to  warm  himself  in  the  sun,  and  at 
the  same  time  be  sheltered  from  the  keen  December 
wind,  that  seemed  to  pierce  him  through  his  thread- 


278  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

bare  clothing,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he,  with  his 
pale,  baby  face,  and  scanty  clothing,  did  not  belong 
to  the  same  "set "with  the  rosy-cheeked  and  com- 
fortably clad  lads  who  were  chatting  so  merrily. 

Bennie  watched  the  group,  and  his  eyes  grew,  if 
possible,  more  wistful  and  hungry-looking  as  he  lis- 
tened. At  last,  when  there  was  a  lull  in  the  merri- 
ment, he  managed  to  get  near  a  boy  who  stood  on 
the  outside  of  the  group,  and  to  ask,  timidly: 

"Will  they  make  uth  pay  to  thee  it,  Charlie?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  Charlie  answered, 
carelessly;  then  he  called  to  one  of  the  larger  boys: 
"Say,  Ed,  what  's  the  price  of  a  ticket  —  reserved 
seat,  you  know,"  with  a  wink  toward  his  companions. 

"  O,  about  twenty-five  cents,  I  guess,  for  all  over 
twelve,  and  fifteen  cents  for  children.  I  'm  off  the 
baby-list,  and  will  have  to  pay  full  fare,"  and  Ed 
straightened  himself  up,  with  all  the  dignity  of  twelve 
years  and  six  months. 

"I  did  n't  ask  on  my  own  account;  I  do  n't  care 
for  a  quarter,"  answered  Charlie,  a  trifle  nettled,  for 
he  lacked  three  months  of  being  twelve  years  old ; 
"but  Bennie  here  wanted  to  know  if  it  would  cost 
him  any  thing. " 

The  boys  laughed  thoughtlessly  as  they  caught 
sight  of  the  little,  pinched  face,  that  looked  so  dis- 
appointed. 

Fifteen  cents  seemed  as  far  out  of  Bennie's  reach 
as  the  same  number  of  dollars  would  have  seemed  to 
some  of  the  boys  around  him. 

"I  guess  you  '11  have  to  sell  your  coat  to  get  the 
change,"  suggested  Ed. 


BENNIE'S  CHRISTMAS.  279 

"Or  that  '  yittie  thithter '  he  talks  so  much 
about,"  mimicked  Charlie. 

For,  by  the  way,  there  was  a  new  baby  at  Ben- 
nie's  house,  and  he  was  very  proud  of  it,  and  when 
one  of  his  schoolmates  had  taunted  him  with  being 
too  poor  to  afford  a  "pair  of  nice  boots,  he  had  an- 
swered, exultantly: 

"Well,  I  do  n't  care;  I  gueth  I  got  a  yittie  thith- 
ter, any  way." 

And  now,  when  some  one  suggested  that  he  sell 
the  baby  to  get  money  for  the  Christmas  tree,  he 
raised  his  thin,  piping  voice  indignantly: 

"I  would  n't  mind  thelling  my  old  coat,  if  I 
could  go  to  thchool  'thout  it;  but  I  wouldn't  thell 
the  baby  for  forty  Kithmuth  tweeth. " 

And  then  Bennie  turned  his  back  on  the  crowd 
who  could  n't  appreciate  the  bright  little  sunbeam  in 
his  otherwise  cheerless  home. 

He  walked  slowly  along  the  way,  as  if  afraid  to 
run  against  the  sharp  wind.  All  the  way  home  he 
kept  thinking  how  much  he  would  like  to  see  that 
tree.  It  had  not  entered  his  head  that  he  would  re- 
ceive a  present  for  himself;  he  only  wanted  to  see 
how  it  looked. 

Once  inside  of  the  place  he  called  home,  the  sight 
of  the  little  one  recalled  the  suggestion  of  the  boys 
that  he  "sell  the  baby." 

Of  course,  it,  was  only  fun  on  their  part,  but 
Bennie  did  not  appreciate  the  joke.  Life  was  all 
dreadfully  real  to  him,  child  though  he  was. 

The  little  one,  in  the  ragged  shawl  and  rough 
cradle,  was  sweeter  and  dearet  to  the  boy's  loving 


280  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

heart  than  all  the  world  outside.  Curling  himself 
down  by  the  cradle,  he  began  to  talk  to  "Baby,"  to 
give  vent- to  his  feelings,  as  many  older  and  wiser 
ones  have  done. 

"No,  I  wouldn't  thell  you  for  forty  Kithmuth 
tweeth !  no,  not  for  a  million  of  'em  !  but  I  would 
like  to  go  juth  ontk,  and  if  I  had  fifteen  centh  I  could 
go,  too.  But,  O  dear,  I  hain't  even  got  a  nickel. 
And  tho  we  '11  stay  at. home  together,"  he  said,  with 
a  half  dissatisfied,  half  resigned  look  and  tone,  as  he 
bent  over  and  kissed  the  little  lips  that  were  just 
learning  to  wreathe  themselves  into  smiles. 

Bennie,  however,  could  not  quite'give  up  the  hope 
of  seeing  the  Christmas  tree,  and  as  he  lay  that  Sab- 
bath night  in  his  bed,  thinking  it  all  out,  he  remem- 
bered a  verse  of  Scripture  that  he  had  learned  some 
time  before,  in  the  Sabbath-school:  "Ask  and  ye 
shall  receive,  seek  and  ye  shall  find,  knock  and  it 
shall  be  opened  unto  you." 

"Teacher  thaid  it  meant  if  we  want  any  thing 
real  bad  and  athk  Jethuth  for  it ;  he  '11  make  it  all 
right  and  give  it  to  uth,  if  it  ith  beth  for  uth,  and  I  '11 
just  athk  him  to  fikth  it  tho  I  can  go ;  and  I  believe 
he  '11  do  it,  cauth  he  thaid  he  would." 

Bennie  slipped  out  of  bed,  and,  kneeling  on  the 
cold,  bare  floor,  he  offered  his  little  prayer.  There 
were  no  big  words  in  that  prayer,  and  perhaps  some  of 
our  college  graduates  would  have  considered  Bennie's 
grammar  and  rhetoric  rather  faulty;  but  his  theology 
was  sound,  and  there  were  two  very  important  points 
in  his  prayer  which  even  some  of  our  most  eloquent 
divines  sometimes  overlook  or  ignore  in  their  prayers, 


BENNIES  CHRISTMAS.  281 

Bennie  prayed  right  to  the  point.  He  asked  God  for 
just  what  he  wanted  and  quit  when  he  got  through, 
and  what  was  more  important,  he  believed  that  his 
prayer  would  be  answered.  As  he  crept  back  shiv- 
ering into  bed,  he  drew  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  if  a  great 
burden  had  been  rolled  off  his  heart,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  tired  boy  was  asleep,  dreaming  of  a  vast 
wilderness,  on  which  God  was  showering  manna  that 
in  some  way  changed  to  shiny  nickels  as  he  stooped 
to  gather  it. 

On  Monday  morning  he  trudged  away  to  school 
with  a  light  heart,  his  precious  secret  kept  snugly  in 
his  <own  breast.  To  all  the  inquiries  of  the  boys  he 
merely  answered,  "Yeth  I'm  going,"  though  he 
could  not  have  told  where  the  money  was  to  come 
from  ;  and  when  one,  more  thoughtless  than  the  rest, 
asked  if  he  was  "going  to  wear  that  old  coat,"  he 
said  he  "  guethed  tho,  I  'd  be  pretty  cold  'thout  it." 

Bennie  was  a  little  bit  troubled  abo^t  his  ragged 
clothes,  but  he  had 'n't  courage  to  pray  for  new  ones] 
for  it  seemed  to  his  simple  mind  like  presumption  to 
ask  Jesus  for  money  and  for  new  clothes  too. 

One  week  had  passed,  and  Monday  morning  came 
again,  and  the  following  Wednesday  night  would  be 
Christmas  eve,  and  Bennie  began  to  wish  he  knew 
just  when  he  would  receive  the  money  he  had  prayed 
for.  Wednesday  morning  the  wind  blew  colder  than 
usual,  and  as  he  crossed  the  village  commons,  on  his 
way  to  school,  Bennie  could  not  help  wishing  he 
could  be  as  warmly  clad  as  some  of  the  boys  who 
laughed  at  his  threadbare  coat  and  short  pantaloons. 

About    half-way  between     Bennie's    home    and    the 

24 


282  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

public  school  lived  a  dear  good  woman,  who,  with 
her  daughter,  was  a  veritable  Dorcas  to  all  the  pooc 
widows  and  neglected  little  ones  of  the  village.  On 
this  special  morning  Bennie  was  sure  of  a  good  fire 
in  this  home,  and  a  bountiful  slice  of  mince  pie ;  and 
so,  knocking  gently  at  the  side  door,  he  was  soon  en- 
joying both.  Then  he  hurried  on  to  school,  promis- 
ing to  call  on  his  way  home  in  the  evening. 

Promptly  at  four  o'clock  ( Bennie  was  always 
punctual  at  that  house)  he  was  again  in  the  corner, 
toasting  his  feet  by  the  warm  fire,  and  enjoying  an 
ample  lunch  from  Mrs.  Smith's  pantry.  Just  as  he  had 
swallowed  the  last  mouthful  a  bundle  was  laid  on  his 
knee,  and  he  was  told  to  unroll  it.  He  had  often  re- 
ceived gifts  of  half-worn  or  out-grown  clothing,  from 
sympathizing  neighbors,  and  as  he  undid  the  bundle 
he  expected  to  find  something  of  that  sort  again ;  but 
this  time  his  expectations  were  more  than  realized, 
for  instead  of  a  suit  of  half-worn  clothes,  a  size  and 
a  half  too  small  or  too  large,  he  found  a  new  suit, — 
pants  and  vest  of  substantial  tweed !  .  For  once 
poor  Bennie  seemed  speechless  with  surprise  and 
doubt.  Were  these  nice  things /or  him  ?  He  could  n't 
remember  of  ever  having  a  real  new  suit  of  clothes  in 
his  life,  and  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  he  had  always 
supposed  that  his  first  dress  had  been  given  him  by 
•some  one  whose  baby  had  outgrown  the  garment  or 
died  before  it  was  worn  out. 

"  Are  n't  they  nice  enough,  Bennie?"  asked  Mrs. 
Smith  at  last,  tired  of  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

The  boy  started  as  if  from  a  dream. 

"O  yeth  'm.      Are  they  for  me?" 


BENNIE'S  CHRISTMAS.  283 

"  Yes,  for  you,  if  they  will  fit  you,"  and  the  lady 
smiled  at  the  anxious,  questioning  face. 

Of  course  the  fitting  was  all  right.  Mrs.  Smith 
and  her  daughter  had  taken  the  proper  precaution  to 
find  a  boy  who  was  about  Bennie's  size,  and  who 
served  as  a  model,  upon  whom  the  clothes  were 
fitted. 

When  he  was  dressed  in  the  suit  and  ready  to 
start  home,  Mrs.  Smith's  son,  a  young  man  of  twenty- 
five  years,  was  called  in  to  admire  the  clothes  and 
the  boy. 

"Well,  Bennie, "  he  said,  "I  suppose  you  will 
wa*vt  to  air  that  new  suit  at  Santa  Claus's  entertain- 
ment," at  the  same  time  slipping  three  bright  new 
nickels  into  the  boy's  vest  pocket. 

Was  there  ever  a  happier  boy?  Jesus  had  an- 
swered his  prayer,  and  he  had  received  his  money  and 
the  new  suit  besides.  The  cold  and  snow  did  n't 
trouble  him  at  all,  for  with  the  new  clothes  outside, 
and  the  happy  heart  within,  his  blood  kept  bounding 
so  he  had  no  time  to  cool  off. 

How  proudly  he  showed  his  money — God's  an- 
swer to  his  prayer — to  his  mother,  who  had  given 
him  but  little*  encouragement  to  hope  for  the  money, 
for  she  had  not  his  simple  faith  in  God's  promises. 
His  old  hat  looked  a  little  shabby  by  the  side  of  the 
new  suit,  but  Bennie  consoled  himself  with  the  thought 
that  he  could  take  it  off  at  the  church  door,  and  the 
pockets  of  the  new  coat  were  large  enough  to  hide 
it  in  while  in  the  church. 

When  he  had  proudly  paid  the  admission  fee,  and 
taken  his  seat  in  a  front  pew,  how  he  feasted  his 


284  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

eyes  on  the  beauties  of  that  wonderful  tree !  The 
Christmas  hymn  was  sung,  and  prayers  offered  by 
the  pastor,  and  a  few  appropriate  ceremonies,  and 
then  began  the  distribution  of  the  gifts. 

The  children  were  attentive  enough  now.  Even 
those  who  had  found  it  so  difficult  to  keep  quiet  during 
song  and  prayer,  were  listening  with  perfect  attention 
as  the  names  of  those  who  were  receiving  presents 
were  called  off. 

Bennie  listened  so  anxiously  that  he  forgot  he 
wore  new  clothes,  forgot  that  his  feet  ached  with 
standing  so  long,  for  he  was  "only  a  boy,"  a  "  roust- 
about" at  that,  and  had  been  "rousted"  out  of  his 
seat  to  make  room  for  a  more  important  personage. 
True,  Bennie's  nickels  were  bright  and  new  and  gen- 
uine, and  his  apparel  goodly,  at  least  in  his  own 
eyes;  yet  he  wore  no  rings  on  his  hands  and  was  not 
entitled  to  a*s  much  attention  as  the  son  of  Judge  H, 
who  had  received  "a  complimentary."  But  when 
Bennie's  name  was  called  and  he  received  a  new  cap, 
"warm  and  plushy,"  he  would  not  have  been  will- 
ing to  exchange  places  even  with  the  judge  himself. 
When  the  festivities  were  over,  and  he  had  received 
a  scarf,  a  pair  of  mittens,  and  a  story-book,  such  as 
he  had  longed  for  many  times,  and  his  pockets  filled 
with  nuts  and  candies,  besides  a  new  cap,  warm  and 
plushy,  his  happiness  and  good  fortune  seemed  too 
great  to  be  real.  What  did  he  care  though  the  boys 
had  laughed  at  him,  and  called  out,  "Shoot  the  cap," 
and  other  nonsense  ?  Their  jokes  all  glanced  off 
without  doing  him  any  harm.  Bennie  was  too  happy 
too  feel  annoyed  at  them.  His  feet  seemed  scarcely 


BENNIE'S  CHRISTMAS.  285 

to  touch  the  ground  as  he  hurried  home.  God  had 
answered  his  prayers,  and  that  was  enough. 

"I  knowed  he  would,  'cauth  he  thaid  tho, "  and 
like  many  another  of  God's  children  •  he  had  found 
that  his  heavenly  Father  had  bestowed  upon  him 
more  than  he  had  dared  to  ask  for. 

Thus  far  through  Bennie's  life  his  "happy  times  " 
have  not  been  scattered  very  thickly  along  his  path- 
way ;  but  be  they  many  or  few,  it  is  likely  that  the 
happy  Christmas  given  in  answer  to  his  childish 
petition,  will  be  looked  back  to  as  one  of  the  sun- 
niest spots  in  his  life. 


^TORY. 


Labor  with  what  zeal  we  will, 

Something  still  remains  undone, 
Something  uncompleted  still, 
Waits  the  rising  sun." 

HE  words  were  uttered  slowly,  and  ended 
with   a   tragical    little    sigh    as   Margaret 
Hilton   stood   looking  from  the  window  of 
little  sitting-room  into  the  gathering  dark- 
ness of  a  Winter  evening. 

"  Waits,  and  will  not  go  away  ; 

Waits,  and  will  not  be  gainsaid ; 
By  the  cares  of  yesterday 

Each  to-day  is  heavier  made." 

Another  voice  had  taken  up  the  poem,  and 
quoted  the  lines  half-soberly,  half-mimicking 
the  tone  of  the  first  speaker,  and  an  arm  was  slipped 
lovingly  about  Margaret's  waist  as  Ellen,  the  younger 
sister,  asked,  with  tender  reproachfulness : 

"What  duty  does  my  conscientious  sister  imagine 
she  has  left  undone  ?  Did  you  forget  to  send  old 
Sarah  her  pound  of  tea  ?  or  have  the  Jones  children 
been  neglected  in  any  way?" 

Margaret  looks  down  soberly  on  the  bright  face 
that  peers  half-quizzically,  half-earnestly  into  hers : 

"Neither  of  these,  Nell;  but  to-morrow  begins  a 
new  year,  the  old  one  is  almost  gone,  and  I  had 


A  NEW-YEAR'S  STORY.  287 

planned  to  do  so  many  things  this  year,  but  now 
every  thing  is  '  uncompleted. '  I  have  not  more  than 
half  finished  the  course  of  reading  I  laid  out,  and  my 
book  has  not  even  the  first  chapter  written.  _I  feel 
as  if  the  year  had  almost  been  wasted." 

Nell's  head  gave  an  impatient  little  toss. 

' '  Wasted,  indeed !  who  ever  knew  you  to  waste 
your  time  ?  Why,  you  dear  sister,  you  are  a  regular 
busybody — not  in  other  men's  matters,  mind  you, 
but  in  doing  good  to  others.  The  nearest  that  you 
have  come  to  any  thing  that  looks  like  idleness, 
within  my  remembrance,  was  when  I  found  you 
here  quoting  Longfellow  to  the  stars.  Wasting  your 
time !  I  half  believe  you  are  cunning  enough  to  be 
'seeking  a  compliment,"  and  Nell  gave  her  sister's 
cheek  a  tap  in  mock  anger. 

"  But  really,  sister,  I  have  accomplished  so  little," 
began  Margaret,  wearily. 

"But  really,  you  must  hush  now;  you  are  only 
blue  from  looking  out  of  the  dark  room  into  the 
gathering  night,"  interrupted  the  vivacious  Nell. 
"But  I  came  to  say  tea  was  ready.  Hannah  was 
going  to  ring  the  bell  and  I  wouldn't  let  her,  because 
I  wanted  to  surprise  you  with  a  formal  invitation  to 
take  my  arm,  and  instead  you  have  surprised  me, 
with  your  solemn  'might  have  been.'  But,  come, 
Hannah  will  be  cross,"  and  with  a  merry  laugh  the 
light-hearted  girl  drew  her  more  dignified  sister 
toward  the  dining-room. 

Margaret  and  Ellen  Hilton  kept  house  together, 
being  the  only  unmarried  members  of  the  former 
household.  The  father  and  mother  had  both  been 


288  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

dead  some  years,  while  an  older  brother  and  sister 
were  married  and  living  in  a  distant  State.  Margaret 
was  ten  years  older  than  Ellen,  and  after  their  moth- 
er's death  had  been  mother  and  sister  to  the  little 
girl  left  an  orphan  at  eight  years  of  age.  The  home- 
stead was  theirs,  and  though  humble  in  comparison 
with  the  residences  of  some  of  their  wealth)'  neigh- 
bors, yet  it  was  a  home,  and  to  this  they  could  turn 
with  a  feeling  of  security  and  rest. 

Margaret  taught  in  the  little  public  school,  at  a 
moderately  fair  salary,  and  this,  with  the  addition  of 
four  boarders,  enabled  them  to  live  comfortably, 
though  plainly. 

By  strict  economy  Nell  had  been  kept  in 
school  and  was  now  hoping  to  "finish"  in  some 
first-class  university.  The  boarders  were  away  for 
the  holidays,  and  this  gave  the  sisters  more  lib- 
erty as  well  as  leisure,  both  which  they  thoroughly 
enjoyed. 

When  tea  was  over  and  they  were  again  in  their 
little  sitting-room,  Margaret,  seated  at  the  table,  took 
up  some  plain  knitting,  while  Nell  seated  herself  on 
an  ottoman  at  her  sister's  feet. 

"Now,  Miss  Prim,  you  have  lectured  me  regu- 
larly all  these  years,  and  I  would  like  the  privilege  of 
returning  the  compliment,  just  this  once."  And 
there  was  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  Nell's  eyes  in 
spite  of  her  effort  to  look  solemn. 

Margaret  smiled  good-humoredly.  "Certainly, 
my  wise  one;  go  on." 

"Well,  then,  to  begin,  do  you  think  it  entirely 
consistent  for  you  to  be  always  preaching  patience 


A  NEW-YEAR'S  STORY.  289 

and  hopefulness  to  others  and  then  get  blue  yourself 
and  go  to  gazing  star-ward  and  quoting  solemn 
poetry  on  New- Year's  eve?" 

"O  sister,  don't!"  and  Margaret's  eyes  are  filled 
with  tears.  "  I  can  not  help  'feeling  a  little  disap- 
pointed. I  have  accomplished  almost  nothing.  I 
wanted  to  help  pay  off  the  church  debt,  and  to 
increase  my  subscription  to  the  benevolences  of  the 
Church,  and  I  have  not  been  able  to  do  either.  And 
I  did  want  to  send  brother  Will  a  few  extra  dollars ; 
what  I  did  send  him  'seemed  so  meager  a  sum.  I 
know_  he  needs  it,  since  his  long  sickness  caused  him 
to  lose  his  place." 

"  And  because  you  can  not  do  all  you  want  to  do 
you  will  insist  that  you  have  accomplished  almost 
nothing.  Now,  let  me  tell  you  a  story,  just  as  you 
used  to  tell  me,  ten  years  ago,  when  I  hurt  my  fin- 
gers or  bumped  my  head,  or  cried  for  what  I  could 
not  and  ought  not  to  have.  Once  upon  a  time,  a 
village  school-ma'am,  who  had  the  charge  of  more 
than  threescore  girls  and  boys,  for  ten  months  of 
each  year,  four  regular  boarders  and  a  cook  to  look 
after  besides,  took  it  into  her  head  or,  heart,  or  both, 
that  she  had  not  burdens  enough  to  bear,  so  she 
must  make  herself  responsible  for  the  comfort  of  two 
invalid  and  indigent  old  women  and  a  family  of  moth- 
erless children — no,  you  must  keep  '  still  and  listen 
until  my  story  is  finished,"  as  Margaret  tried  to  enter 
a  protest  against  the  story,  the  application  of  which 
was  only  too  apparent.  "Besides  all  this,  she  must 
educate  a  certain  motherless,  madcap  sister,  and 
while  doing  all  this  she  must  needs  grow  despondent 


290  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

because  she  could  n't  do  a  score  of  other  things  at 
the  same  time  on  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars  a 
year." 

"Nell,  you  musi  stopl" 

And  Margaret,  dropping  her  work,  caught  her 
sister  in  her  arms,  laughing  in  spite  of  herself,  even 
though  the  tears  were  on  her  cheeks. 

"Well,  the  story  will  stop  for  the  present,"  as- 
sented Nell,  as  she  freed  herself  from  her  sister's 
arms.  ' '  But  I  do  insist  that  you  shall  not  make 
yourself  miserable  because  you  can  not  do  what  no 
one  but  yourself  thinks  you  ought  to  do.  Pray,  do 
leave  a  few  charities  for  others  to  bestow.  If  I  did 
not  hope  to  repay  all  the  money  you  spend  on  me,  I 
would  n't  accept  it  all,  but  I  do  hope  to  be  a  help, 
instead  of  a  burden,  some  of  these  days.  You  do 
good  every  day  of  your  life,  while  /  am  only  a  butter- 
fly, and  a  very  homely  one,  at  that.  Those  did  women 
look  upon  you  as  an  angel  of  mercy,  and  when  I 
take  them  your  gifts  they  thank  me  for  bringing  them, 
but  they  'bless  dear  Miss  Margaret'  for  sending 
them.  They  know  whose  purse  pays  the  bills,  I  can 
tell  you  that. 

"You  could  n't  give  fifty  dollars  toward  paying 
off  the  church  debt,  but  you  managed  to  give  our 
pastor's  wife  a  present  of  ten  dollars.  You  wonder 
how  I  found  it  out?  Well,  Mrs.  Sawyer  did  n't  keep 
still  about  it,  as  you  told  her  she  must,  but  told  me 
all  about  it,  and  how  much  good  it  had  done  her, 
and  'she  was  so  grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness.' 
And  I  might  tell  a  good  many  other  things  my  pre- 
cious sister  has  been  doing,  supposing  all  the  time 


A  NEW-YEAR'S  STORY.  291 

that  her  poor  little  left  hand  did  n't  know  any  thing 
about  it. 

"I  am  real  sorry  about  the  reading  and  the  book 
you  wanted  to  write,  and  I  hope  you  will  have  more 
time  this  coming  year;  but  you  have  not  been  idle 
or  neglectful,  and  I  could  n't  let  you  close  up  the  old 
year  with  that  great  burden  of  imaginary  duties  yet 
undone.  You  may  begin  the  new  year  with  a  clear 
conscience,  my  sister  Margie.  " 

And  Nell's  eyes  were  suspiciously  moist,  even  while 
her  tone  was  full  of  playful  banter. 

Margaret  kissed  the  upturned  face,  with  loving 
caf*ess. 

"Perhaps  I  am  too  anxious;  I  will  try  not  to 
murmur,  nor  spend  time  in  useless  regrets;  I  do  not 
want  to  spoil  your  pleasures  with  my  long  face." 

"Now,  that  is  a  little  like  your  old  sensible  self, 
and  I  like  it  much  better  than  your  'might  have 
beens;'  just  keep  in  that  frame  of  mind,  and  I  '11  give 
up  my  position  of  lecturer." 

And  Nell  picked  herself  up,  and  drew  a  chair  to 
the  opposite  side  of  the  work-table,  with  a  proposal 
to  read  for  her  sister's  entertainment. 

She  had  not  read  many  minutes  before  the  bell 
rang,  and  Hannah  appeared  with  the  evening  mail, 
which  a  kind  neighbor  had  brought  from  the  office. 

Margaret  looked  at  the  envelopes. 

"A  letter  from  brother  Will;  here,  Nell,  you  may 
read  it  first,  to  pay  for  your  lecture." 

And  the  letter  was  passed  over  unopened.  Nell 
broke  the  seal,  and  read  aloud. 

After  a  few  words  of  loving  greeting,  the  writer  said : 


292  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"I  can  not  thank  you  sufficiently,  my  dear  sister, 
for  your  gift  of  fifty  dollars  —  or,  rather,  loan,  for  I 
shall  insist  on  returning  it  as  soon  as  I  can  spare  it — 
but  it  was  a  blessing  te  us,  how  much  you  can 
scarcely  realize. 

"  Bills  were  due,  and  I  lying  helpless,  Avondering 
how  they  could  be  met,  and  —  I  am  ashamed 
to  own  it — almost  losing  faith  in  Providence,  when 
your  letter,  with  its  encouraging  words  and  material 
help,  came.  Mary  and  I  shed  tears  over  both  letter 
and  check,  it  meant  so  rrruch  to  us. 

"I  am  mending  slowly,  and  have  the  promise  of 
my  former  position,  after  holidays  are  over.  I  am 
not  strong  enough  to  write  a  long  letter,  but  we 
pray  that  the  holidays  may  be  a  very  happy  time  for 
you  and  sister  Nell.  Your  affectionate  and  grateful 
brother  WILL." 

Nell  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

''Isn't  that  better  than  writing  a  book?  I'd  give 
a  small  fortune,  if  I  had  it,  to  have  some  one  feel 
like  that  toward  me;  and,  really,"  her  old  teasing 
spirit  returning,  "I  have  a  mind  to  be  downright 
jealous.  I  am  almost  forgotten,  and  if  it  were  not 
for  a  chance  reference  I  should  have  been  left  entirely 
out  of  his  letter.  People  are  always  pouring  bless- 
ings on  your  head,  and  yet  you  say  you  have  accom- 
plished almost  nothing." 

Margaret  smiles  through  her  tears. 

"I  am  glad  I  have  lightened  one  burden,  and 
made  some  one  happier.  Do  n't  think  me  foolish, 
but  I  do  want  the  world  to  be  better  and  happier  be- 
cause I  am  in  it.  My  heart  was  set  on  writing  the 


A  NEW-YEAR'S  STORY.  293 

book,  because  I  felt  I  might  help  some  one  to  a  bet- 
ter life;  I  trust  there  is  time  enough  yet,  and  I  am 
willing  to  bide  my  time,  if  I  can  only  feel  sure  that 
I  am  pleasing  Him  who  reads  not  the  outward  acts 
alone,  but  the  motives  which  prompt  them." 


r? 


tlURED  TO  DESTRUCTION. 


CHARLES   HAVREFIELD   had  just  re- 
turned from  college,  where  he  had  grad- 
uated with  honors,  and  all  his  old  friends 
gathered  around  him  to  show  him  respect. 
i2        For  four  years  he  had  been  away  from  his 
boyhood's   home,    only   returning   occasionally, 
during  "holidays  or  the  Summer  vacations. 

Now  he  was  through  his  course  of  study, 
and  ready  for  a  little  recreation  before  entering 
upon  the  duties  of  his  profession  —  that  of  the 
law. 

He  was  a  fine  specimen  of  the  physical  man, 
with  the  social  and  intellectual  qualities  well  devel- 
oped also. 

When  just  passing  out  of  his  teens,  he  had  been 
considered  "a  little  wild,"  and  rumor  "said  he  had 
occasionally  drunk  more  wine  than  was  good  for  him ; 
but  he  was  a  rich  man's  son,  and  society  is  not  usu- 
ally disposed  to  look  very  closely  into  the  conduct 
of  those  who  have  money  and  the  social  position 
which  money  buys. 

During  his  years  in  college,  he  had,  through  the 
restraints  thrown  about  him  and  his  fear  of  disgrace, 
succeeded  in  overcoming  his  temptation,  and  in  keep- 
ing under  control  his  already  more  than  half-formed 
appetite. 


LURED  To  DESTRUCTION.  295 

Judge  Cowan,  an  old  friend  of  the  family,  had 
given  a  large  party  in  honor  of  his  young  friend,  and 
the  splendid  parlors  were  filled  with  the  elite  of  the 
town. 

Of  course,  there  must  be  wines.  Every  body  in 
fashionable  society  had  wines  at  their  parties,  and 
neither  the  judge  nor  his  wife  had  any  thought  of 
being  behind  their  friends  in  the  completeness  of 
their  entertainment. 

The  evening  was  passing  pleasantly,  arid  supper 
was  announced.  Young  Havrefield  gave  his  arm  to 
Gracie,  the  judge's  youngest  daughter,  a  very  beau- 
tiftjt  and  lovable  young  lady.  It  had  long  been  set- 
tled in  Havrefield's  mind  that  n<5  lady  of  his  ac- 
quaintance came  so  near  filling  his  ideal  as  she. 
Society  whispered  that  there  would  soon  be  a  grand 
wedding. 

At  the  table  wines  were  passed,  and  the  young 
man  filled  his  companion's  glass,  leaving  his  own 
turned  upside  down. 

Gracie  saw  the  omission,  and,  looking  up,  said: 

"Are  you  not  going  to  take  a  glass  of  wine 
with  me?" 

Havrefield  colored  a  little  under  her  inquiring 
look,  but  answered : 

"I  have  not  drank  a  glass  of  wine  for  over  two 
years." 

"The  more  reason  you  should  do  so  to-night," 
replied  the  young  girl,  laughing  lightly;  "  my  father 
always  keeps  the  best,  and  he  will  feel  hurt  if  you  dp 
not  taste  it.  Remember  this  party  was  gotten  up  in 
your  honor." 


296  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"And  I  am  very  grateful  for  the  honor  conferred 
on  me;  but  please,  Gracie,  do  not  ask  me  to  take 
wine." 

He  uttered  the  last  part  of  the  sentence  just 
loud  enough  for  her  ears  only. 

Something  in  his  tone  made  Gracie  look  up  into 
his  face,  and  in  an  instant  her  own  face  crimsoned. 

"Surely,  you  are  not  afraid  to  take  a  glass  of 
wine?" 

Havrefield's  face  changed  from  red  to  pale.  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said,  slowly: 

"I  would  rather  not  touch  wine  to-night." 

"O  certainly,  I  shall  not  urge  you.  If  you  are 
so  weak  that  you  can  not  take  one  glass  of  wine,  I 
will  excuse  you.  But  I  supposed  you  were  stronger 
than  that,"  and  Gracie's  tone  was  cold  and  her  face 
haughty. 

For  a  moment  the  hot  blood  rushed  to  his  face, 
and  then  receding  left  it  paler  than  before.  In  that 
moment  his  mind  was  made  up.  He  would  show 
Gracie  that  he  was  as  strong  as  others.  Turning  up 
his  glass  he  held  it  toward  his  companion,  saying  in 
a  low  tone,  "Will  you  pour  the  wine,  please?" 

Gracie  complied,  smiling  triumphantly. 

"I  knew  you  could  not  refuse  me." 

Ten  minutes  after  Judge  Cowan  turned  to  him, 
saying  pleasantly:  "Will  you  have  a  glass  of  wine 
with  me,  Mr.  Havrefield?" 

He  was  about  to  reply,  excusing  himself,  when 
he  remembered  Gracie's  words,  and  for  fear  of  offend- 
ing by  a  refusal,  he  took  the  proffered  glass.  He  had 
intended  only  to  touch  it  to  his  lips,  but  the  first 


LURED  TO  DESTRUCTION.  297 

glass  had  awakened  the  old  appetite,  and  he  drained 
the  last  drop. 

Two  glasses  were  sufficient  to  set  his  brain  in  a 
whirl,  and  when  two  or  three  old  friends  insisted  on 
his  taking  a  glass  for  Auld  Lang  Syne,  he  could  not 
refuse,  and  before  the  evening  was  over  he  was  so 
much  intoxicated  that  a  friend  found  it  necessary  to 
take  him  home,  in  order  to  prevent  an  unpleasant 
scene. 

He  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  sense  of  guilt 
and  shame  resting  upon  him.  He  had  not  only  an 
aching  head,  but  an  aching  heart  also.  He  wondered 
wlfat  Judge  Cowan  would  think  of  him.  What  would 
Gracie  say? 

"I  must  see  her,  and  ask  her  pardon  for  this,"  he 
said  to  himself,  humbly. 

In  the  afternoon  he  called  at  the  judge's  resi- 
dence, and  with  an  anxious  heart  asked  for  Gracie. 
She  soon  made  her  appearance,  but  instead  of  her 
usual  cordial  greeting,  she  bowed  coldly  and  took 
her  seat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  His 
quick  eye  saw  the  change,  but  he  was  too  thoroughly 
humiliated  and  miserable  to  blame  her.  He  waited 
a  moment  for  her  to  begin  the  conversation,  but  she 
seemed  not  to  be  in  a  talkative  mood,  aud  the  si- 
lence was  oppressive. 

"Gracie,"  he  said  at  last,  with  an  evident  effort 
to  steady  his  voice,  "I  came  to  offer  you  an  apology 
for  my  conduct  on  last  night.  I  am  very  sorry  for 
what  happened,  and" — 

Gracie  interrupted  him:  "Apologies  are  useless, 
Mr.  Havrefield.  If  you  have  no  more  respect  for  me 


298          STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

than  to  become  intoxicated  in  my  presence,  apolo- 
gies would  be  thrown  away." 

"  But,  Grade,  please  hear  me.  I  did  not  intend  it. 
I  thought  I  could  do  as  the  rest  did,  and  not  feel  it 
more  than  they;  but  I  am  not  used  to  wine,  and 
it  overcame  me."  The  young  lady  shrugged  her 
shoulders  impatiently. 

"  I  may  as  well  say  it  now  and  put  an  end  to 
this.  I  want  no  apologies,  but  hope  you  will  con- 
sider our  engagement  at  an  end.  I  can  not  afford  to 
marry  a  man  who  will  disgrace  me  and  mine." 

Her  voice  was  cold  and  hard,  and  her  words  drove 
every  particle  of  color  from  her  lover's  face.  He 
started  to  his  feet,  and  then  sank  back  again  in  his 
chair  with  a  look  of  astonishment. 

"O  Grade,  you  can  not  mean  that,"  he  fairly 
gasped. 

"I  certainly  do.  I  can  not  think  of  marrying  a 
man  who  is  as  weak  as  you  showed  yourself  to  be 
last  night.  My  father  has  drank  wine  for  forty  jears, 
and  no  one  ever  saw  him  intoxicated,"  she  said 
proudly. 

Havrefield  sat  for  some  moments  like  one  stunned. 

"This  is  your  final  answer,  is  it?"  he  said,  rising 
and  standing  before  her,  a  look  of  mingled  anger 
and  agony  on  his  face.. 

Gracie  bowed  coldly.      "It  is,  Mr.  Havrefield." 

He  still  stood  before  her,  his  handsome  face 
twitching  with  restrained  anger.  Half  an  hour  be- 
fore he  would  have  knelt  in  his  humility  at  her  feet. 
At  last  he  said  slowly,  and  with  a  fearful  emphasis : 
"\{  you  cast  me  off  I  am  ruined.  I  did  not  intend 


LURED  TO  DESTRUCTION.  299 

to  touch  the  wine  on  last  evening.  It  had  been  two 
years  since  a  drop  of  alcoholic  liquor  of  any  kind 
had  passed  my  lips,  and  no  one  but  you  could  have  in- 
duced me  to  touch  the  cursed  stuff.  You  urged  me  to 
drink,  even  insinuating  that  I  was  afraid  to  drink  a 
glass  of  wine.  I  was  afraid !  I  wish  in  God's  name 
I  had  been  man  enough  to  have  left  it  alone !  But 
if  I  go  to  ruin,  perhaps  it  will  comfort  you  to  remem- 
ber that  it  was  your  persuasions  that  tempted  me,  and 
your  hand  that  poured  the  glass  of  wine  that  awak- 
ened the  fiend  Appetite.  Judge  Cowan  no  doubt 
will^cast  me  off,  and  his  daughter  breaks  her  plighted 
faith,  not  because  I  drink  wine,  but  because  I  can  not 
drink  as  much  as  her  father  without  getting  drunk." 

He  turned  and  left  the  room  without  waiting  for 
a  reply.  Taking  his  hat  from  the  table  in  the  hall, 
he  passed  out  of  the  door  and  down  the  walk.  He 
had  gone  in  with  sorrow  and  humiliation  in  his  heart; 
he  came  out  full  of  anger  and  despair.  The  one  hope 
of  his.  life  was  taken. away. 

"I  may  as  well  go  to  the  devil  at  once;  no  one- 
will  care/'  he  muttered  with  clinched  teeth. 

When  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had  died  away, 
Gracie  Cowan  went  slowly  to  her  room.  All  the  joy 
had  gone  out  of  her  life  in  the  -last  few  hours. 
Throwing  herself  on  her  bed  she  wept  long  and  bit- 
terly. Love,  anger,  and  wounded  pride  were  strug- 
gling for  the  mastery  in  her  heart.  Unfortunately 
pride  and  anger  gained  the  victory  over  love,  and 
while  conscience  told  her  she  was  to  blame  in  tempt- 
ing him,  and  love  dictated  calling  him -back,  and  to 
give  him  one  more  chance  to  recover  his  lost  ground, 


300  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

pride  held  her  back,  even  though  her  heart  ached  at 
the  separation. 

They  seldom  met  after  their  angry  parting,  and 
it  was  only  "through  her  friends  that  she  heard  he 
was  gradually  going  down  to  certain  ruin.  Her 
father  on  one  occasion  ventured  to  express  his  satis- 
faction that  she  had  been  wise  enough  to  break  their 
engagement  before  it  was  too  late,  but  it  was  no 
comfort  to  her,  for  his  parting  words — "No  one  but 
you  could  have  tempted  me  to  touch  it" — rang  in  her 
ears  whenever  she  thotight  of  him ;  and  although  she 
would  not  acknowledge  it,  even  to  herself,  yet  she 
could  not  help  feeling  that  she  was  to  blame  for  his 
ruin. 

Havrefield  made  a  few  feeble  efforts  to  reform, 
but  the  appetite  had  hold  of  him,  temptations  were 
thick  about  him,  and,  cast  off  by  the  one  who  first 
tempted  and  who  might  have  reclaimed  him,  he 
soon  sank  to  the  level  of  the  common  drunkard. 
He,  who  with  his  splendid  talents  and  education, 
might  have  been  the  first  in  his  profession,  went 
down  a  ruined  man ;  ruined,  too,  by  one  whom  he 
loved  as  his  life,  and  who  loved  him  in  return,  yet 
with  a  mistaken  idea  of  true  manhood  she  had  lured 
him  to  his  own  destruction. 


THE     OYS. 


1^  SAY,  Ben,  is  n't  Miss  Woodbury  a  brick! 
=>0X/t  She  must  know  how  boys  feel  such  days 
as  this,  and  that 's  the  reason  she  let  us  off  at 
recess  to-day,"  said  Edward  Holmes,  a  boy  of 
fifteen,  as  he  and  his  seat-mate  passed  out 
of  the  school-yard. 

"Miss   Woodbury   is   always    kind,    but   I 
guess   she   would  n't  be  pleased    if  she   heard 
nfe    you  calling  her  a  brick.      You  know  she  hates 
,  ,    slang,"  said  his  companion. 
'jl  "O,  well,  hang  it  all,  a  boy  can't  always 

be  watching  his  grammar.  I  did  n't  mean  any 
harm,  and  I  do  n't  believe  she  'd  care  a  bit.  Any 
way,  I  am  going  to  pay  her  back  by  being  extra 
good,  Monday." 

"Why  not  all  the  week?"  asked  Ben,  quietly. 
"O,  you're  always  taking  a  fellow  up  so.'  I 
do  n't  believe  I  could  be  good  a  whole  week,  any 
time,  much  less  such  hot  days  as  these.  My !  won't 
I  be  glad  when  vacation  comes!"  and  the  boy  threw 
up  his  hat  and  caught  it,  by  way  of  giving  vent  to 
his  feelings. 

"Ed.  Holmes!  wait;  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing," called  another  boy,  just  coming  out  of  the 
yard  gate. 

Edward  stepped  to  one  side  and  waited  until  the 
boy  came  up.  "What's  wanted,  Frank?" 


302  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"Why,  I  want  you  to  come  over  to  our  meadow 
and  play  ball.  We  '11  have  jolly  fun.  I  have  asked  a 
half-dozen  of  our  '  particular  friends, '  as  mother  says. 
Will  you  come?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  so;  that  is,  if  mother  do  n't 'care, 
and  she  does  n't  often  object,  if  I  'm  in  good  com- 
pany." 

"Well,  hurry  home  then  and  see  about  it,  and 
come  over  soon." 

And  Frank  Moore  jumped  over  the  fence,  and 
went  across  the  lot  toward  home. 

Eddie  Holmes  ran  home,  deposited  his  books  in 
the  hall,  and  went  into  the  sitting-room  to  find  his 
mother,  but  she  was  not  there.  He  looked  into  the 
parlor,  but  it  was  darkened,  and  he  started  for  the 
kitchen  to  ask  Mary  about  her.  Mary  supposed  she 
had  gone  to  walk  with  the  children. 

"  O,  bother,  I  want  to  go  to  Frank  Moore's  for 
a  game  of  ball." 

"You  had  better  ask  your  father,  then,"  sug- 
gested Mary. 

"I  don't  want  to;  he'll  only  scold.  I  guess 
I  '11  have  to,  though,  if  I  get  to  go;  "  and  away  he 
went  to  find  his  father. 

Running  into  the  office,  he  began : 

"Father,  may  I  go  and  play  ball  at" — 

"Go  back  and  close  that  door,"  said  his  father, 
without  looking  up  from  his  ledger.  "Strange  you 
can  't  learn  to  come  in  without  making  such  a  racket!  " 

Eddie  closed  the  door,  and  then  said : 

"May  I  go,  father?  Frank  Moore  wants  me  to 
come  over  and  play  ball." 


SAVING. THE  BOYS.  303 

'  'No ;  you  had  better  stay  at  home  until  you  can 
learn  to  behave  properly;"  and  Mr.  Holmes  went 
on  with  his  writing  without  looking  up. 

Eddie  turned  and  walked  slowly  out  of  the  office 
and  back  home.  There  was  no  running  or  throwing 
up  his  hat  now;  but  he  walked  slowly  along,  never 
looking  up,  when  a  boy  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  called  out: 

"What 's  the  matter,  Ned  ?    Going  to  a  funeral?" 

Inside  the  house,  he  flung  himself  on  the  lounge, 
and  gave  way  to  his  disappointed  feelings.  He 
felt  that  his  request  was  reasonable;  and  if  it  had 
ntfTbeen,  he  was  hurt  more  at  the  manner  of  his  re- 
fusal than  at  the  refusal  itself. 

' '  I  wish  I  was  a  man, "  he  muttered.  ' '  I  guess  I  'd 
,have  a  little  fun  then  without  being  scolded  about  it." 

Then  as  he  thought  of  the  good  time  the  boys 
were  having,  he  felt  the  hot  tears  coming,  and  hid 
his  face  in  the  pillow.  Presently  he  got  up  and 
went  to  the  parlor.  Every  thing  seemed  so  silent 
and  lonesome,  and  the  afternoon  was  so  different  from 
what  he  had  expected. 

His  mother  came  home  soon  and  noticed  the 
cloud  on  the  face  of  her  usually  lively  boy,  and  asked 
the  cause.  Then  came  the  story  of  his  disappoint- 
ment and  his  father's  reproof. 

"But,  Eddie,  you  know  you  ought  to  be  more 
careful ;  you  know  how  much  your  father  dislikes  a 
noise  about  his  room,  and  you  have  been  reproved 
so  often  for  your  carelessne'ss. " 

' '  Well, "  muttered  the  boy,  ' '  he  won't  always  have 
a  chance  to  scold.  When  I'm  a  man  I  '11  go  where  " — 


304  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"Eddie!"  and  Mrs.  Holmes's  voice  was  full  of 
pain.  "You  do  n't  know  what* you  are  saying." 

"Well,  mother,  I  can't  help  it;  it  isn't  right, 
and  you  know  it,  too;"  and  he  brushed  off  the 
angry  tears,  which  would  come,  in  spite  of  his  efforts 
to  keep  them  back. 

Mr.  Holmes  took  no  notice  of  his  boy's  clouded 
face  at  tea  time;  but  as  he  came  home  at  nine  o'clock 
from  the  store,  he  heard  voices  inside  the  yard,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

"Better  say  you '11  come.  We  never  play  for 
money,  and  you  need  n't  take  part  unless  you  want  to. " 

Mr.  Holmes  stopped  and  listened,  breathlessly, 
for  he  had  recognized  the  voice.  Sam.  Huffman, 
one  of  the  worst  boys  the  town  could  afford,  was 
trying  to  coax  his  boy  into  one  of  their  dens,  and  he 
grasped  his  cane  as  if  he  would  strike  down  the 
tempter.  Presently  Eddie's  voice  answered : ' 

"Not  to-night,  Sam." 

"To-morrow  night,  then?" 

"  I  guess  so.  I  would  not  go  at  all,  Sam,  only — 
well,  I  get  snubbed  on  every  hand  at  home.  Father 
scolds,  and  mother  looks  solemn,  and  the  house  is 
awful  lonesome.  Mag  and  Lou  are  too  refined  to 
enjoy  my  company,  and  so  I  've  either  got  to  set  and 
mope,  or  hunt  company  away  from  home.  Will 
says  it  was  just  so  when  he  was  here  ;  but  my !  do  n't 
he  have  gay  times  now !  He  says  he  would  n't  stay 
here  for  any  thing,  and  as  soon  as  I  'm  old  enough  I 
mean  to  go,  too ;  then  I  guess  I  won't  get  scolded 
every  time  I  break  one  of  the  rules  of  etiquette,"  and 
there  was  a  sneer  in  the  boy's  voice. 


SAVING  THE  BOYS.  305 

"Good  for  you!"  responded  his  companion,  with 
a  laugh.  "  Hope  you  '11  be  man  enough  to  cut  your 
leading  strings  shortly." 

"Hush."  said  Eddie  softly.  "I'll  go  to-morrow 
night  if  you  '11  meet  me  here.  I  do  n't  feel  right 
about  it,  though.  I  believe  mother's  fretting  about 
Will's  doings,  and  that  makes  her  look  so  blue  lately. 
May  be  I'd  better  not  come  this  time." 

"Bah!  tied  to  mammy's  apron-string, "  sneered 
Huffman. 

For  a  moment  Eddie  hesitated,  but  the  fear  of 
ridicule  overcame  his  scruples,  and  so  he  promised  to 
be»6"Ti  time,  and  they  separated. 

Mr.  Holmes  shrank  back  under  the  shadow  of  the 
trees  as  Huffman  leaped  over  the  fence  and  disap- 
peared down  the  ally.  His  first  impulse  was  to  call 
his  son  into  the  house  and  punish  him  for 'keeping 
such  company.  But  the  boy's  reference  to  himself 
checked  him.  Was  it  true,  as  Eddie  said,  that  he 
scolded  about  everything?  He  didn't  mean  to  be 
unkind,  but  his  conscience  told  him  that  there  was  at 
least  a  grain  of  truth  in  the  boy's  words.  He  had  also 
received  a  revelation  respecting  his  eldest  boy.  "Can 
it  be  possible  that  it  is  my  fault  that  William  is  so 
wild?"  he  asked  himself,  with  a  sigh,  as  he  thought 
of  his  son's  reckless  ways.  At  last  he  went  slowly  up 
the  walk  leading  to  the  house.  When  he  entered  the 
sitting-room,  Eddie  was  sitting  by  the  table  reading 
a  book  as  quietly  as  if  he  had  not  been  holding  a 
.clandestine  meeting  with  the  rough  of  the  village. 
The  father  sat  down  very  quietly  and  took  out  his 
evening  paper.  Maggie,  r"he  eldest  daughter,  was  in 
26 


306  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

the  parlor  practicing  a  piece  of  new  music ;  Louisa, 
"the  younger  daughter,  was  curled  upon  the  lounge, 
reading  a  novel,  while  the  mother  sat  mending  some 
of  the  rents  made  by  the  little  ones  through  the  day. 
Altogether  it  was  a  very  silent  company.  Presently 
Eddie  said  he  was  sleepy,  and  shut  up  his  book,  bid 
them  good-night,  and  went  to  his  room. 

For  some  time  the  father  sat  thinking  of  what  he 
could  do  to  save  his  boy.  At  last  he  decided  to  ask 
the  advice  of  his  wife  and  daughters,  and  turning  to 
Louisa  said,  in  a  troubled  voice: 

"Lou,  lay  by  your  book  for  a  while,  and  tell 
Maggie  to  come  here;  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Mrs.  Holmes  looked  up,  startled  at  the  husky 
sound  of  her  husband's  voice.  "Is  there  something 
wrong  with  your  business?"  she  Basked  timidly. 

"No,  I  am  afraid  it  is  worse  than  that,"  he  an- 
swered bitterly. 

When  they"  were  all  seated  around  the  table  Mr. 
Holmes  told  them  of  the  conversation  which  he  had 
overheard,  not  even  keeping  back  his  son's  comments 
on  his  own  temper.  When  he  had  finished,  Lou, 
who  was  only  three  years  older  than  Eddie,  was  cry- 
ing quietly. 

"O  papa,  am  I  to  blame?"  she  asked  tearfully. 
"I  guess  we  are  all  to  blame  in  part;  but  what  are 
we  going  to  do?  This  meeting  must  not  take  place 
if  we  can  prevent  it." 

Finally  it  was  decided  that,  as  the  father  had 
some  business  in  the  city,  he  should  go  in  the  morn- 
ing and  take  Lou  and  Edward  with  him  and  spend 
the  Sabbath.  Eddie  had  begged  to  go  shortly  before, 


SAVING  THE  BOYS.  307 

but  his  father  had  told  him  he  "could  n't  be  bothered 
with  a  boy." 

In  the  morning  when  they  were  at  breakfast  the 
father  announced  his  intention  of  spending  Sabbath 
in  the  city,  and  suggested  that  two  of  the  family  ac- 
company him.  Maggie  shook  her  head;  she  was 
"too  busy."  Lou  declared  she  was  always  ready 
to  go. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Holmes,  "that  is  only  one. 
Edward,  don't  you  want  to  go?" 

"May  I?"  he  asked  doubtfully.  The  boy  had 
already  half  repented  his  promise  to  Sam  Huffman. 
/**  Yes,  you-  may  go,  if  you  like ;  it  will  make  up 
for  your  disappointment  yesterday  afternoon,"  said 
his  father,  kindly.  The  tones  more  than  the  words, 
touched  the  boy,  and  he  fidgeted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
At  last  he  turned  away  his  head  and  coughed  to  hide 
his  feelings. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  would  like  very  much  to  go,  if  I 
will  not  be  in  the  way." 

They  went  to  the  city,  and  for  once  Mr.  Holmes 
exerted  himself  to  please  and  entertain  his  boy,  and 
was  himself  surprised  to  find  how  mucli  pleasure  he 
found  in  the  effort.  Edward  returned  home  delighted 
with  his  visit,  and  the  sisters,  who  had  been  fright- 
ened at  what  their  father  had  overheard,  set  them- 
selves to  work  to  make  home  more  pleasant  for  their 
brother,  while  the  father  and  mother  decided  that  it 
was  better  to  punish  him  with  innocent  amusement 
.  at  home  than  that  he  should  seek  for  amusement  in 
sinful  company. 

Nothing   more   was   heard   of   the   meeting    with 


308  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

Sam  Huffman ;  but  one  evening  in  the  Autumn, 
when  Mr.  Holmes  had  taken  the  girls  to  a  concert 
and  Edward  was  alone  with  his  mother,  he  told  her 
how  near  he  had  come  to  going  away  with  Sam, 
never  to  come  back. 

"I  wouldn't  have  thought  of  going,"  he  said; 
"  but  there  seemed  a  place  for  every  one  but  me,  and 
I  felt  that  I  was  in  the  way,  and  only  a  bother.  But 
I  guess  I  was  mistaken  about  it ;  father  lets  me  help 
him  sometimes  now,  and  he's  real  patient  with  me, 
too,  though  I  am  afraid,  mother,  I  shall  never  learn 
to  close  doors  after  me  or  walk  softly  across  a  room," 
he  said,  smiling  up  in  his  mother's  face. 

Mrs.  Holmes  stooped  and  kissed  the  forehead  of 
the  big  boy  at  her  feet,  and  said  gently : 

"You  are  never  in  our  way,  my  son." 

But  she  never  told  him  how  his  father  had  over- 
heard the  conversation  between  him  and  Sam,  nor 
how  hard  they  had  all  worked  to  keep  him  out  of 
such  company.  After  a  little  pause,  Eddie  said : 

"Mother,  I  wish  Will  would  come  home." 

The  mother  sighed.  "  I  am  afraid  your  brother 
would  not  like  the  restraints  of  home." 

And  there  the  subject  dropped  for  the  time.  But 
one  day  Mr.  Holmes's  head  clerk  told  him  he  had  been 
offered  a  partnership  in  a  respectable  firm,  and  had 
accepted  it,  and  in  a  month  or  so  would  go  into  busi- 
ness for  himself.  Then  Edward  asked  his  father  to 
write  and  offer  Will  the  place. 

"  He  is  too  reckless  for  so  responsible  a  position, 
and  he  wouldn't  accept  it  from  me  any  way,"  ob- 
jected the  father. 


SAVING  THE  BOYS.  309 

"  Try  him,  please.  Let  me  take  the  letter  to 
him,"  pleaded  the  boy.  Finally  Mr.  Holmes  con- 
sented, and  Edward  went  to  the  city  with  the  letter. 

"Yes,"  sneered  Will,  when  he  had  read  the 
letter,  ' '  he  wants  me  there  so  he  can  watch  me  and 
lecture  me  as  he  used  to." 

"No,  Will,  you're  mistaken.  Father  isn't  one 
bit  like  he  used  to  be.  He  and  I  have  real  good 
times  together  now,  and  the  girls  are  jolly,  I  tell  you. 
Just  as  fashionable  as  ever,  but  they  try  to  make  a 
fellow  have  a  good  time  at  home.  Mother  looks 
pale  and  sad,  but  I  guess  its  grieving  about  you.  Of 
cotrrse,  she  wants  you  home,"  he  added,  hastily,  as 
he  saw  Will's  face  flush  at  the  implied  rebuke. 
"Come,  Will,  say  you'll  accept." 

"Give  me  a  week  to  think  about  it,"  pleaded 
Will. 

"No,  sir!  I  won't  give  you  an  hour.  We  all 
want  you  home,  and  the  girls  will  hug  you  'most  to 
death  when  you  get  there." 

"Some  danger,"  muttered  Will;  "too  much 
afraid  of  soiling  their  finery  to  allow  me  to  come 
within  a  rod  of  them." 

"No,  they  're  not;  I  tell  you  they  're  not  one  bit 
like  they  used  to  be.  Besides,  I  want  a  big  brother 
to  counsel  with,"  urged  Edward. 

"I  wonder  they  're  not  afraid  I  '11  rum  your-  mor- 
als if  I  come  home,"  said  Will,  defiantly. 

"Hush,  Will,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  pained  look; 
"I  tell  you  we  all  want  you  home.  Say  yes,  for  it 
is  nearly  train  time." 

"Well,  yes,  then;  how  soon  must  I  come?" 


310  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"Right  away,  if  you  can;  father  said  you  would 
want  some  instruction  from  Brown  before  he  goes  out. " 

"Well,  I  '11  be  down  m  a  week,  then,"  answered 
the  brother,  slowly;  and  then,  with  a  smile,  "Ned, 
you  're  a  splendid  pleader ;  father  will  spoil  a  first- 
class  lawyer,  if  he  makes  a  merchant  of  you." 

And  so  they  parted. 

In  a  week  Will  was  back  in  the  old  home,  feeling 
restrained  and  awkward,  but  glad  to  be  there,  not- 
withstanding. The  next  morning,  Mr.  Holmes 
told  his  son  he  would  like  to  see  him  in  the 
library,  for  a  little  while,  and  Will  thought : 
"Now  for  an  old-time  lecture."  But  he  was  mis- 
taken; not  a  word  of  reproach — only  an  explanation 
of  the  responsibility  of  the  position  he  was  about  to 
take,  and  what  he  should  expect  of  him;  and  then 
the  father  said  kindly: 

"When  you  were  younger,  William,  I  am  afraid 
I  did  n't  quite  understand  you  and  sympathize  with 
you,  as  I  might  have  done;  but  I  did  n't  intend  to 
be  hard  on  you.  I  hope  you  will  feel  now  that  my 
greatest  desire  is  to  see  you  prosperous  and  happy. 
I  am  getting  old,  and  need  your  company  and  help. 
In  my  old  days,  I  hope  to  give  up  my  business  to 
you  and  Edward,  if  you  will  take  it." 

"Can  you  trust  me,  father?  I  have  not  lived  as 
steadily  as  I  ought;"  and  Will  spoke  with  heightening 
color. 

"But  you  will  do  better  now,  will  you  not?" 

"Yes,  father;  indeed  I  will,  if  you  will  only  trust 
me  and  forgive  me,"  answered  the  young  man,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  floor. 


SAVING  THE  BOYS.  311 

"I  have  something  to  be  forgiven  for,  too,"  an- 
swered the  father,  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  as  he 
rose  and  placed  his  hand  on  the  bowed  head  of  his 
son.  "I  have  been  hasty  and  impatient  with  you 
very  often ;  God  help  me  to  be  more  patient  with  my 
children  in  the  future." 

"Don't,  father,  don't,"  sobbed  the  young  man; 
"I  can't  bear  it;  I  don't  deserve  your  confidence, 
but  I  will  try  to  do  better  now." 

In  a  few  days  William  Holmes  went  to  work  in 
his  father's  store,  with  a  firm  determination  to  give 
up  his  old  habits.  By  the  assistance  of  his  father's 
sympathy  and  his  mother's  prayers,  aided  by  the 
cheerful  home  influence  which  his  sisters  threw  round 
him,  he  did  finally  gain  the  victory  over  self,  and  in 
after  years,  when  William  and  Edward  were  steady 
business  men,  taking  the  burden  from  their  father's 
shoulders,  neither  parents  nor  sisters  regretted  their 
efforts  to  "save  the  boys." 


AS    BY 
Xn'OCfirtt 


CHAPTER     I  . 

'HE  face  that  looked  up  from  the  hospital 
bed  was  not  all  bad,  although  the  marks 
of  sin  were  plainly  visible  ;  and  even  while 
you  looked  into  the  face  the  eyelids  would 
droop  as  if  to  ward  off  your  scrutiny  —  as  if 
afraid  you  would  read  there  the  mistakes  and 
misdeeds  of  the  past.  The  hospital  nurse  was 
passing,  and,  pausing  for  a  moment  as  he  came 
to  the  bed,  he  straightened  the  covering,  ar- 
ranged the  pillow  a  little  more  comfortably, 
and  smoothed  back,  with  a  hand  as  gentle  as  a 
woman's,  the  patient's  hair,  that  had  grown  to  unus- 
ual length  and  which  gave  a  stronger  emphasis  to 
the  already  haggard  expression  of  his  face. 

"Thank  you:  you  are  very  kind,"  he  said  grate- 
fully, then  added,  '  '  Every  body  is  kind  to  me  here, 
but  I  believe  I  am  a  little  homesick  to-day." 

"Then  why  not  take  my  advice  and  write  to  the 
home  folks?  My  word,  you  '11  feel  the  better  for  it," 
answered  the  nurse  with  an  encouraging  smile. 

"O,  it's  not  worth  while.  They've  forgotten  me 
long  ago,  I  presume,"  with  an  effort  at  indifference 
in  his  tone  and  manner. 

4  '  Home  folks  do  n't  forget  a  fellow  as  easily  as 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  313 

you  think,  young  man.  ,  Any  way,  better  write,  and 
remind  them  of  your  existence,"  and  with  this  in- 
junction the  kind-hearted  nurse  passed  on  to  the 
next  patient. 

During  the  past  few  weeks  the  nurse  had  repeat- 
edly urged  this  young  patient  to  write  to  his  sister, 
and  ask  to  be  taken  into  her  home.  But  pride  and 
shame,  together  with  a  sort  of  independence  of  char- 
acter, had  prevented  him  thus  far  from  asking  such  a 
favor  from  one  whose  advice  he  had  rejected  years 
before,  and  so  he  had  hesitated  even  while  his  heart 
hungered  for  his  sister's  presence. 

'For  months  he  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  hos- 
pital, and  for  a  time  his  life  had  hung  in  the  balance. 
At  last,  however,  the  physicians  said  he  would  live, 
but  gave  him  no  encouragement  to  hope  ever  to 
walk  again. 

When  the  verdict  of  the  physicians  was  made 
known  to  him  he  had  uttered  an  audible  groan  and 
turned  away  his  face  to  hide  the  expression  of  the 
pain  the  announcement  had  caused  him. 

"Better  dead  than  helpless,"  he  muttered  hope- 
lessly. "  Why  did  n't  you  let  me  die  when  I  was  so 
near  it?"  he  had  asked,  bitterly,  when  the  nurse, 
seeing  his  despondency,  had  tried  to  cheer  him  a  little. 

"You  were  ready  to  die,  I  suppose,"  the  man 
had  answered,  eyeing  him  quietly. 

"No,  not  exactly,  but  as  nearly  ready  as  I  am 
likely  to  be,"  and  he  turned  away  as  if  to  shut  out 
the  thoughts  that  would  crowd  up. 

For  days  he  had  lain  brooding  over  the  prospect 
before  him.  "Nothing  but  the  hospital  or  the  alms- 
27 


314  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

house  "  he  would  say  with  a  gesture  of  loathing  and 
with  a  shudder  as  he  thought  of  his  future.  To  a 
young  man  who  had  builded  so  many  castles  in  the 
air  in  former  years  the  prospect  was  certainly  not  a 
pleasing  one. 

"But  it  is  as  good  as  I  deserve.  I  might  have 
known  my  sin  would  find  me  out,  and  I  was  taught 
better."  And  as  his  memory  reverted  to  his  early 
training,  he  could  but  acknowledge  to  himself  that 
if  he  had  heeded  those  instructions  he  would  have 
escaped  this  terrible  affliction  and  humiliation. 

On  the  morning  on  which  my  story  begins, 
Allen  Howard  was,  as  he  said,  "homesick."  There 
had  come  over  him  such  a  longing  for  friends  as  he 
had  not  experienced  since  the  day  when,  but  a  boy, 
he  had  gone  out  from  the  home  roof  full  of  hope  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world.  Full  of  good  intentions 
and  with  high  anticipations  of  the  future,  he  had  gone 
out  expecting  "to  see  something  of  the  world,"  but 
with  the  determination  to  avoid  its  vices,  even  though 
anxious  for  a  share  in  what  he  called  its  harmless 
pleasures. 

But  the  enemy  of  souls,  ever  on  the  track  of 
homeless  ones,  had  gained  victory  after  victory  over 
the  inexperienced  and  unguarded  boy ;  trifling  victo- 
ries apparently,  yet  full  of  importance,  as  they  held 
the  destiny  of  his  future  years.  Appetite  for  strong 
drink,  with  all  its  attendant  vices,  crept  about  him, 
and  before  he  was  aware  of  his  danger  he  was  so 
completely  in  the  toils  that  not  only  was  he  one  of 
the  fast  young  men  whose  companion  he  was,  but 
also  a  transgressor  of  the  law. 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  315 

Evil  companions  who  cared  for  him  only  because 
he  was  agreeable,  and  because  they  saw  that  his  pli- 
able nature  would  make  him  a  convenient  tool  for 
their  purposes,  had  led  him  on  step  by  step,  until  the 
teachings  of  his  mother  and  the  counsel  of  a  sister 
were  alike  neglected  and  forgotten. 

But  now  he  had  time  to  think  of  the  past,  and 
in  his  hours  of  lonely  suffering  all  the  teachings  of 
that  mother,  the  loving  words,  the  kindly  reproofs 
and  faithful  warning  came  to  him  like  voices  from 
the  grave,  awakening  all  his  better  feelings,  feelings 
that  had  been  lulled  to  sleep  for  months  and  years; 
antf  with  these  awakenings  came  an  unutterable  long- 
ing for  home  and  loved  ones.  He  had  found  friends 
among  nurses  and  physicians,  more  than  he  had 
dared  to  hope  for  under  the  circumstances ;  but  their 
kindly  care  and  words  only  served  to  increase  his 
longing  for  home  friends  and  faces, — for  the  sister 
who  had  soothed  his  boyish  trouble  and  shared  his 
childhood  sports. 

The  father  had  died  when  his  boy  was  but  two 
years  old,  and  the  mother  had  gone  to  her  reward 
when  he  was  but  twelve,  her  prayers  for  her  boy's 
salvation  yet  unanswered.  But  He  who  treasures  up 
the  prayers  and  tears  of  his  children  had  not  forgot- 
ten the  petitions  of  that  mother,  and  now,  on  a  bed 
of  affliction,  Howard's  thoughts  were  being  drawn 
toward  God  as  memory  recalled  the  loving  counsels 
which  had  been  unheeded  at  the  time,  and  which  he 
•had  almost  forgotten.  All  his  better  nature  was 
aroused,  and  at  night  when  he  could  not  sleep  for 
pain,  he  would  lie  wondering  if  the  sister  he  had  not 


316  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

seen  for  ten  years  had  forgotten  him  as  he  had  her 
words  of  warnings,  wondering  if  she  would  like  to  see 
him  again.  Two  years  had  passed  since  he  had  writ- 
ten her,  and  she,  of  course,  was  ignorant  of  his  where- 
abouts; and  his  first  thought,  when  he  found  him- 
self in  the  hands  of  the  law,  had  been  to  conceal  his 
real  name,  so  that  she  need  not  know  nor  share  his 
shame ;  and  only  to  his  nurse,  and  on  the  pledge  of 
silence,  had  he  made  known  his  real  name. 

Sometimes  he  would  almost  decide  to  write  to  his 
sister,  and  tell  her  all ;  then  would  come  the  thought : 
"How  can  I?  Will  not  she  and  her  husband  de- 
spise me  when  they  know  how  low  I  have  fallen  ? 
No,  I'll  bear  it  alone,"  he  would  say  with  com- 
pressed though  quivering  lips,  ashamed  almost  of  his 
own  weakness.  And  for  a  while  he  would  stifle  the 
longings  of  his  heart  rather  than  be  a  burden  or  a 
disgrace  to  his  friends.  But  try  as  he  might,  home 
faces  and  home  voices  would  come  to  him  in  a  way 
he  could  not  resist.  The  blessed  Christ  was  draw- 
ing him  closer  to  himself  by  means  of  these  home 
ties. 

Finally,  one  day  after  a  severe  struggle  with  con- 
tending thoughts,  he  took  up  the  pen  and  paper, 
which  the  nurse  had  placed  by  his  bed,  determined 
to  write  and  ask  his  sister  to  take  him  home,  though 
he  could  not  yet  bring  himself  to  tell  her  the  story 
of  his  past  life.  With  trembling  hand  he  wrote : 

"DEAR  SISTER  HELEN:  It  has  been  a  long  time 
since  I  have  written  to  or  heard  from  you.  I  have 
been  sick  for  months,  and  am  still  an  invalid.  The 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  317 

doctors  say  there  is  but  little  hope  that  I  will  ever 
walk  again.  It  seems  terribly  hard,  only  twenty-three 
years  old,  and  a  cripple  for  life.  I  want  to  see  your 
face  and  hear  your  voice  again,  O,  so  much.  But 
my  past  life  has  not  been  such  as  you  would  approve 
of;  but  I  can  not  tell  you  all  now,  though  I  feel  as  if 
I  ought.  Sister,  will  you  be  as  kind  to  me  now  as 
you  were  when  I  was  but  a  boy?  Will  you  take  me 
on  trust,  and  be  patient  with  me  for  a  little  while  ? 
Sometime  I  will  tell  you  all  about  myself,  if  you  will 
only  not  ask  me  now.  I  need  your  help  more  than 
eve*  before,  and  yet  I  dislike  to  ask  it  of  you,  know- 
ing that  I  do  not  deserve  it ;  but  you  were  always  so 
kind  that  I  dared  run  the  risk.  Write  and  tell  me 
your  decision.  Your  brother, 

"ALLEN." 

Wearily  folding  the  letter  he  placed  it  in  its  en- 
velope and  laid  it  on  the  table  by  his  bed.  In  less 
than  half  an  hour  he  had  repented  having  written  it, 
and  twice  he  took  it  up  with  the  intention  of  destroy- 
ing it,  but  something  held  him  back  till  at  last,  weary 
in  body  and  mind,  he  fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke 
an  hour  later  the  letter  had  disappeared. 

His  faithful  nurse  had  seen  the  struggle,  and 
fearing  he  would  change  his  mind,  had  dropped  it  in 
the  hospital  letter-box.  When  Howard  found  that 
his  letter  was  gone,  he  lay  thinking  over  what  he  had 
written  and  wishing  he  could  recall  it.  But  it  was 
too  late.  The  missive  was  on  its  way,  and  he  fell  to 
wondering  as  to  what  sort  of  a  reception  would  be 
given  it. 


318          STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

One  moment  he  seemed  to  see  his  sister,  as  she 
was  in  her  girlhood  —  fresh  and  rosy-cheeked,  full 
of  life,  yet  with  a  sort  of  motherly  care,  watching 
over  and  advising  him.  She  was  but  seven  years 
his  senior,  and  yet  she  had  always  assumed  the  pre- 
rogative of  guarding  and  controlling  his  actions, 
so  far  as  she  could  —  now  checking  his  headlong 
fun,  and  now  joining  witl^all  her  heart  in  some  inno- 
cent amusement,  or  helping  him  in  his  studies  —  and 
as  he  remembered  how  proud  she  used  to  seem  when 
he  had  a  good  lesson  or  did  some  noble  act,  the  tears 
filled  his  eyes  and  fell  upon  his  pillow. 

"O,  I  can  never  tell  her!  she  will  despise  me!" 
he  would  sob,  half-aloud.  "I  hope  she  will  not  get 
the  letter;  I  would  rather  die  here  among  strangers 
than  have  her  know  all  about  my  life."  And  then, 
indignant  at  himself,  as  he  thought  of  his  wasted 
years,  he  would  mutter  :  "What  a  fool  I  have  been!" 

In  due  time,  the  letter  reached  its  destination,  and 
Mrs.  Hildreth,  while  shocked  and  grieved  at  the  news 
it  brought  her,  was  a  true  sister,  full  of  love  for  the 
brother  whom  she  had  not  seen  since  he  had  left 
home,  when  but  a  boy  just  entering  upon  his  teens. 

He  was  a  man  now,  in  years;  sinful  he  might  be, 
but  still  her  brother,  whom  a  dying  mother  had  com- 
mitted to  her  care.  He  had  long  since  gone  beyond 
her  care,  but  now  an  opportunity  was  offered  by 
which  she  could  once  more  regain  something  of  the 
influence  of  earlier  years,  and  it  only  needed  her 
husband's  consent  before  she  could  respond  to  the 
pleading  letter,  and  invite  the  wanderer  home.  This 
consent  was  readily  obtained,  and  she  at  once  wrote  to 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  319 

the   homeless    one    that    he    need    be    homeless   no 
longer. 

Three  weeks  had  passed,  and  Howard  had  almost 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  his  letter  had  been  lost 
or  that  his  plea  had  been  rejected.  As  this  feeling 
began  to  take  possession  of  him,  he  realized  how 
much  his  heart  had  been  set  upon  seeing  his  sister, 
and  how  strong  the  hope  had  been  that  she  would 
send  for  him  to  come  home,  and  the  thought  that  he 
was  cast  off  by  his  only  sister  was  as  painful  as  it  was 
humiliating. 

JBut  a  letter  came  at  last,  bearing  not  the  post- 
mark of  his  native  town,  but  of  a  village  in  the 
south-west.  His  sister  and  her  family  had  removed 
during  the  years  of  his  silence,  and  he  had  not  learned 
of  the  fact. 

It  was  with  hands  trembling  with  anxiety  that  he 
broke  the  seal,  and  looked  at  the  signature  to  assure 
himself  as  to  the  writer. 

Yes,  it  was  from  Helen. 

A  loving  letter,  inviting  him  to  her  home  and 
heart;  a  brief?' sketch  of  her  husband  and  children  — 
none  of  whom  he  had  seen  —  but  not  a  word  of  re- 
proof for  the  wanderer,  either  direct  or  implied.  A 
sisterly  letter,  full  of  hopefulness  and  comforting 
words ;  a  few  sentences  reminding  him  of  the  Savior's 
yearning  love  for  the  wandering  ones,  and  then  a 
second  invitation  to  come  home. 

"The  old  home  is  in  the  hands  of  strangers,  and 
we  are  in  the  West;  but  you  will  not  mind  that,  if  you 
are  able  for  the  journey.  My  house  is  neither  large 
nor  costly,  but  there  is  room  enough  in  it  for  my  sick 


320  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

brother,  and  Mr.  Hildreth  joins  me  in  saying,  come 
as  soon  as  you  can.  If  it  were  possible  to  leave 
home,  ojie  of  us  would  come  to  you ;  but  Mr.  Hil- 
dreth's  presence  is  needed  in  his  business,  and  my 
children  need  me,  but  we  shall  expect  you  soon." 

How  often  did  Allen  read  over  that  letter  —  the 
invitation  to  come  home.  At  last  he  laid  it,  wet  with 
his  tears,  under  his  pillow,  and  fell  to  counting  the 
days  which  must  pass  before  he  could  see  the  writer. 


CHAPTER   II. 

AT  last  the  physician  decided  that  he  was  strong 
enough  to  undertake  the  journey,  and,  bidding  good- 
bye to  those  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him  during 
the  past  weary  months,  he  started — an  invalid,  to  be 
sure,  but  stronger  than  he  had  dared  to  hope. 

As  he  neared  his  journey's  end,  he  was  conscious 
of  a  sensation  of  dread  creeping  into  his  heart.  How 
could  he  meet  all  the  inquiries  about  his  past  life? 
Some  one  would  be  certain  to  probe  him  with  ques- 
tions, and  how  could  he  answer? 

He  almost  felt  as  if  it  would  be  better  to  be  back 
in  the  hospital,  dreary  as  it  had  seemed  at  times, 
than  to  have  to  meet  all  the  questionings  and  the 
suspicious  looks  which  he  felt  would  be  cast  upon 
him. 

He  had  not  written  of  his  starting,  and  when  the 
village  hack  drew  up  before  his  sister's  door,  they 
were  scarcely  expecting  him. 

Slowly  and  with  the  help  of  the  driver  and  an- 
other passenger,  he  descended  from  the  hack,  and 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  321 

was  met  at  the  door  of  the  unpretentious  dwelling  by 
a  matronly  woman,  who  did  not  need  to  be  told  that 
this  was  the  long-lost  brother. 

A  tearful,  though  cordial,  greeting  —  not  many 
words,  both  hearts  were  too  full  for  words —  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Allen  Howard  was  lying  in  his  sister's 
sitting-room,  weary  and  worn, with  his  long  journey, 
with  tears,  which  he  tried  vainly  to  hide,  stealing 
down  his  pale  face,  and  yet  with  a  feeling  of  com- 
fort and  restfulness  such  as  he  had  not  known  during 
the  long  months  of  his  affliction. 

After  a  few  words,  Mrs.  Hildreth,  with  wise 
trfoughtfulness,  left  him  alone,  to  rest  and  sleep  un- 
til tea  was  ready. 

Then  his  brother-in-law  came  in,  and  said,  with 
cheery  tones: 

"And  this  is  Allen,  I  suppose.  Glad  you  have 
reached  us  safely,  my  boy.  We  shall  soon  have 
you  strong  again,  I  hope." 

The  greeting,  so  unexpectedly  cordial,  was  more 
than  the  poor  prodigal  could  bear,  and  he  could  only 
return  his  brother's  cordial  grasp  with  a  feeble  effort, 
and  then  turn  away  his  face,  to  hide  his  emotion. 

As  the  family  gathered  about  the  tabl6,  and  Allen 
was  placed  in  a  seat  opposite  his  sister,  and  the  chil- 
dren, four  in  number,  were  introduced  to  "  Uncle 
Allen,"  the  invalid  felt  that  his  homecoming  had 
not  been  so  unpleasant  as  he  had  feared. 

The  first  evening  passed  off  quietly,  and  the  days 
grew  into  weeks  and  no  explanation  of  the  past  had 
been  asked  or  given ;  yet  the  young  man  felt  that  it 
would  be  a  relief  if  he  could  pour  out  all  the  miser- 


322  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

able  story  in  his  sister's  ears,  and  receive  the  comfort 
and  counsel  which  he  felt  she  could  give. 

Their  beautiful  home-life  seemed  a  constant  .re- 
minder of  how  far  he  was  separated  from  them,  and, 
while  Mrs.  Hildreth  would  have  felt  grieved  if  she 
had  known  his  thoughts,  yet  he  could  not  help  feel- 
ing that  he,  with  all  his  dark  past  clinging  to  him, 
had  no  right  to  be  there. 

They  were  all  so  thoughtful  of  his  comfort,  and 
the  one  topic  which  he  had  so  dreaded  was  so  care- 
fully avoided,  that  he  began  to  feel  they  deserved 
his  confidence,  although,  with  instinctive  shame,  he 
shrank  from  giving  it. 

Even  Mr.  Hildreth,  whom  he  had  so  dreaded  to 
meet,  had  taken  to  him  very  kindly;  and,  in  truth, 
they  had,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "taken  him  on 
trust." 

Once,  -a  few  weeks  after  his  coming  into  their 
home,  when  his  sister  had  been  doing  some  little, 
thoughtful  kindness  for  him,  he  had  said : 

' '  Helen,  it  seems  hardly  fair  to  refuse  to  give  you 
my  confidence,  when  you  are  so  kind  and  patient, 
and,  above  all,  trust  me  so ;  but  I  hate  so  to  think 
of  the  past,  and  it  is  so  pleasant  to  feel  that  you  trust 
me.  O,  if  I  could  only  blot  out  the  past  ten  years, 
and  begin  again !" 

Mrs.  Hildreth  looked  at  him  with  a  quiet,  pity- 
ing smile. 

"If  my  brother  can  only  trust  all  the  past  mis- 
takes of  his  life  to  his  Savior,  I  shall  be  satisfied, 
even  though  he  does  not  see  proper  to  tell  me  all 
about  it.  I  am  in  no  hurry,  Allen." 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  323 

"But  you  shall  know  some  day,  sister,"  with  a 
wistful  look  in  the  pale  face. 

Mrs.  Hildreth,  seeing  his  distressed  look,  placed  her 
hand  over  his  lips,  as  if  she  would  treat  the  matter 
very  lightly.  "One  would  think  you  had  been  a 
dreadful  boy  to  hear  you  talk.  Let  us  hear  no  mere 
about  it  until  I  give  you  permission.  I  am  not  going 
to  have  my  patient  worrying  about  trifles." 

But  Howard  was  not  satisfied.  The  more  he 
looked  back  over  his  past  life  the  more  he  felt  con- 
demned. He  was  trying  to  get  into  the  life  which 
he  was  assured  his  sister  and  her  husband  were  living, 
but  the  way  seemed  dark,  and  every  step  uncertain 
and  new.  In  his  wanderings  he  had  tried  to  forget 
God,  and  now,  when  he  would  get  into  the  right 
path,  his  way  seemed  hedged  up.  He  longed  to 
make  a  full  confession,  to  tell  his  sister  just  what  he 
had  been,  and  then  to  lean  upon  her  for  counsel  and 
help.  But  the  consciousness  that  he  should  probably 
lose  their  esteem  deterred  him  from  day  to  day,  and 
yet  instead  of  peace  coming  to  his  anxious  heart, 
the  burden  only  grew  heavier.  He  was  still  an  in- 
valid, and  though  there  was  some  improvement,  he 
had  but  little  hope  of  ever  being  restored  to  his 
former  strength.  Longing  for  sympathy  and  counsel, 
such  as  he  knew  he  could  only  receive  when  his  story 
was  known,  he  resolved  at  last  to  risk  all  and  unburden 
his  heart  to  his  sister,  who  had  so  kindly  taken  him 
into  her  home  and  heart. 

•One  evening,  as  he  sat  in  his  arm-chair,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  room  where  Mrs.  Hildreth  was  also 
sitting,  with  her  mending-basket  by  her  side,  he  said : 


324  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"  Helen,  leave  your  work  for  a  little  while  and 
sit  here  by  me.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

She  readily  complied  with  his  request  and  drew 
her  chair  to  his  side,  the  flickering  light  of  the  fire 
and  the  shaded  lamp  only  partially  lighting  up  their 
faces. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  Mrs.  Hildreth  asked,  after 
waiting  for  several  minutes,  and  Allen  had  made  no 
sign  of  beginning  to  talk. 

"Are  the  children  in  bed?"  he  asked,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Yes,  and  asleep.      Do  you  want  them?" 

"No;  but  I  don't  want  them  to  hear  what  I 
have  to  say  to-night.  I  must  tell  you  the  story  I 
have  kept  back  so  long." 

"But,  Allen,  you  need  not,"  interposed  his  sister, 
as  she  saw  his  agitation. 

"Yes,  I  need.  I  shall  never  feel  quite  right  until 
you  know.  It 's  an  ugly  story,  but  I  shall  be  no 
worse  after  I  tell  you  than  I  was  before.  Do  n't  in- 
terrupt me,  and  do  n't  run  away  from  me ;  but  I  ex- 
pect you  '11  hate  me  when  you  know  how  bad  I  have 
been." 

And  then,  in  a  voice  which  he  forced  to  be 
steady,  he  told  of  the  years  since  he  had  gone  out 
from  the  home  roof.  How  he  had  been  led,  step  by 
step,  into  bad  company  and  bad  habits,  and  how  he 
had  tried  to  forget  God  and  his  mother's  counsel,  and 
had  gone  on  from  bad  to  worse  until,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  drink,  he  had  committed  a  crime  from  the 
penalty  of  which  he  had  only  escaped  because  a 
wound,  received  in  ohis  arrest,  had  rendered  him  a 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  325 

cripple,  and  the  judge  had  considered  his  punishment 
sufficient. 

He  repeated  the  whole  shameful  story  in  a  low 
voice,  as  if  he  was  afraid  the  very  walls  would  hear 
and  repeat  his  secret.  When  he  finished,  his  sister 
was  sitting  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  weep- 
ing bitterly.  Allen  shook  with  intense  agitation, 
while  the  perspiration  stood  in  great  drops  upon 
his  forehead.  It  was  over  now.  She  knew  all  the 
terrible  secret  which  he  had  so  dreaded  to  tell,  and 
now  came  the  reaction.  He  wished  he  had  not  told 
her^.and  if  it  had  been  possible  he  would  have  re- 
called every  word. 

There  was  a  silence  for  some  moments,  broken 
only  by  his  sister's  sobs.  At  last,  unable  to  endure 
the  suspense,  he  said,  pleadingly : 

"Helen." 

His  voice  seemed  to  arouse  her,  and  she  put  out 
her  hand  with  a  pitiful  gesture. 

"O  Allen,  how  could  you?  O,  our  poor 
mother."  And  then  she  gave  ,way  to  fresh  sobs  of 
grief  and  wounded  family  pride. 

They  had  never  been  a  very  wealthy  family,  but 
they  had  been  an  honorable  one,  for  whose  record 
they  had  never  had  reason  to  blush.  But  now  this 
terrible  story  seemed  to  crush  her  to  the  earth.  She 
had  expected  to  hear  of  some  wild  pranks,  but  noth- 
ing so  bad  as  this,  and  the  thought  that  her  brother 
was  a  criminal  was  more  than  she  could  calmly  en- 
dure, under  the  first  sense  of  shame  and  disgrace. 

Allen  had  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  supporting 
himself  on  his  crutch,  and  reached  out  his  hand  as 


326  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

if  to  take  hers;  but  when  she  spoke  his  mother's 
name,  he  drew  back  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow. 

"  Do  n't,  Helen,  do  n't  speak  of  her  in  that  way. 
I  know  I  have  disgraced  her  and  you  ;  but  do  n't 
hate  me,  though  God  knows  I  hate  myself  for  my 
weakness.  But  it  was  an  awful  temptation." 

Then  seeing  she  did  not  answer  nor  raise  her 
head,  he  said,  desperately: 

"If you  turn  against  me.  I  had  better  have  died 
at  the  first." 

The  pleading,  kalf  scared  tone  aroused  Mrs.  Hil- 
dreth,  and  with  an  effort  she  checked  her  sobs. 
Kneeling  by  the  side  of  her  prodigal  but  thoroughly 
repentant  brother,  she  laid  her  face,  still  wet  with 
tears,  upon  his  shoulder. 

"No,  no;  I  don't  hate  you,  and  I  shall  not  turn 
against  you;  but  O  Allen,  it  seems  like. an  awful 
dream.  I  can  not  realize  that  my  brother  could  do  such 
a  thing.  I  am  glad  our  mother  is  not  here  to  suffer,  too. " 

"O  sister.  I  have  suffered  so  much  because  of 
it.  It  may  be  if  mother  had  lived  it  would  not  have 
happened;  but  you  did  your  part,  and  no  one  can 
blame  you  for  my  sin.  But  you  do  n't  know  what 
it  is  to  be  without  friends  or  money,  home  or  em- 
ployment," pleaded  Allen,  his  breath  coming  thick 
and  fast,  as  if  he  would  suffocate.  "  If  I  were  not 
so  helpless,  I  might  go  away  where  you  would  not 
be  mortified  by  my  presence;  but" — 

"Hush;"  and  Mrs.  Hildreth  started  at  the 
strangeness  of  his  tone ;  and  as  she  interrupted  him 
she  looked  into  his  face,  and  was  shocked  at  the 
look  of  intense  suffering  visible  there. 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  327 

"Hush,  Allen,  your  place  is  here  with  me,"  she 
said,  with  sudden  calmness,  rising  and  smoothing  back 
his  hair  from  his  forehead.  "You  have  sinned,  but 
you  have  suffered  enough  already.  I  will  not  add 
to  it." 

For  some  moments  she  sat  by  his  side  without  a 
word.  Her  mind  was  busy  over  the  problem  of  lead- 
ing this  poor  sinful,  sin-sick  soul  back  to  the  arms  of 
the  tender  Shepherd. 

Presently  Allen  said : 

"You  don't  quite  hate  me  then,  Helen?" 
^"No;  but  I  am  so  sorry,  my  poor  brother.    You 
must  ask  God's  forgiveness;  your  sin  is  against  him, 
not  me." 

"But  I  have  lived  so  far  away  from  him  that  I 
do  not  deserve  to  be  forgiven,"  was  the  hopeless 
reply. 

"It" is  not  a  question  as  to  what  you  desewe,  but 
what  you  need,  and  your  willingness  to  take  what 
God  offers." 

Allen  reached  out  his  hand,  and,  taking  his  sister's 
in  his,  he  laid  it  against  his  face,  with  a  caressing 
motion. 

"  I  do  n't  know  as  I  can  make  you  understand 
how  I  feel;  you  have  always  been  so  good  that  you 
can  't  feel  as  I  do,  who  have  never  done  any  thing 
right,  scarcely.  Some  way,  it  looks  mean  to  ask  God 
to  forgive  me,  now  that  I  am  where  I  can  't  help 
myself.  If  I  could  only  do  something  to  prove  that 
I  am  sincere!" 

"He  knows  all  about  you.  It  is  because  you 
can  not  do  any  thing  that  he  offers  you  pardon. 


328  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

You  have  nothing  to  pay  with,  and  so  it  must  be  a 
free  gift,  if  you  are  saved ;  but  his  words  are  better 
than  mine,"  and  Mrs.  Hildreth,  drawing  the  lamp 
nearer  to  her,  took  up  her  Bible,  to  read  a  few  pas- 
sages of  Scripture  especially  suited  to  her  brother's 
case.  Allen  looked  at  the  book,  and  said  regretfully : 
"If  I  had  read  that  book  more,  and  heeded  its 
teachings,  I  need  not  be  as  I  am  to-night." 

"Don't  spend  time  in  useless  regrets.  You  have 
sinned,  but  you  are  sorry.  God  knows  it;  now  look 
from  yourself  to  his  mercy." 

Thus,  patiently  and  lovingly,  did  this  Christian 
woman  point  her  brother  to  Christ.  Here  and  there 
she  read  such  passages  as  were  especially  suited  to 
his  need.  And  he,  in  utter  humiliation,  was  ready 
to  be  taught;  he  was  the  child  again,  submitting 
to  the  wiser  and  stronger  hand  of  his  sister,  and  he 
drank  in  her  words  as  if  he  were  famishing. 

At  last,  he  looked  up  into  her  face,  and  noticing 
how  pale  and  worn  she  looked,  laid  his  hand  over  the 
page,  saying: 

' '  There,  sister,  do  not  read  any  more ;  you  are 
tired  out.  I  have  been  so  selfish  not  to  remember 
that  you  were  weary,  but  I  was  so  hungry  for  your 
words.  Don't  let  the  children  know  of  this;  I 
could  n't  bear  for  them  to  have  a  doubt  of  me,"  and 
then,  as  he  heard  Mr.  Hildreth's  step,  returning  from 
the  office:  "There  is  John ;  you  must  tell  him,  7 
can  't.  It  may  be  he  will  not  want  me  here  when  he 
knows  the  worst." 

And  the  lips  quivered,  though  he  tried  to  speak 
bravely. 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  329 

His  face  flushed  as  his  brother  spoke  to  him,  in- 
quiring after  his  welfare,  and  Mrs.  Hildreth,  seeing 
how  weary  he  was,  insisted  on  his  retiring  for  the 
night. 

CHAPTER    III. 

IN  their  own  room,  Mrs.  Hildreth'  told  her  hus- 
band the  story  of  her  brother's  fall,  and  also  of  his 
evident  repentance,  adding,  timidly: 

"Allen  half  expects  you  to  send  him  away  when 
you  know  what  he  has  done." 

"Helen!"  Mr.  Hildreth's  tone  was  full  of  pained 
surprise.  "I  hope  I  have  not  forgotten  that  it  is  not 
my  own  goodness  that  has  saved  me  from  like  sins. 
I  should  be  a  strange  disciple  of  Christ  if  I  should 
thus  offend  one  of  his  little  ones." 

"You  are  not  angry  with  him,  then?" 

"No,  certainly  not;  it  is  a  bad  piece  of  business, 
and  no  mistake,  but  we  '11  not  make  it  any  worse,  if 
we  can  help  it." 

Mrs.  Hildreth's  nerves  had  been  overstrained  by 
the  excitement  of  the  evening,  and,  now  that  her 
task  was  done,  and  there  was  no  longer  a  necessity 
for  a  calm  demeanor,  she  gave  way  to  her  feelings, 
and  sobbed  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

Her  tears  did  her  good,  however,  and  with  pa- 
tient kindness  and  true  Christian  gentleness  did  her 
husband  soothe  and  comfort  her,  until  her  sobs  ceased 
and  she  could  lie  down  quietly  to  rest. 

To  say  that  the  story  had  caused  him  pain  and 
astonishment,  would  scarcely  do  justice  to  Mr.  Hil- 
28 


330  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

dreth's  real  state  of  mind.  He  had  suspected  wrong- 
doing of  some  kind ;  yet,  like  the  sister,  he  had  not 
supposed  that  it  was  as  bad  as  had  been  revealed. 
He  was  a  proud  man,  and  very  jealous  of  the  honor 
of  his  own  children,  and  he  had  hoped  they  would 
be  spared  any  thing  like  real  disgrace  or  shame;  and 
now  it  was  upon  them,  in  a  way  he  could  not  remedy 
nor,  resist 

His  good  sense  and  Christian  spirit,  however, 
enabled  him  to  decide  that  it  was  best  to  give  his 
brother  all  the  help  he  could,  and  as  he  seemed  to  be 
really  sorry  for  the  past,  he  should  have  a  fair  chance 
to  amend,  and,  so  far  as  it  was  possible,  make  a  new 
start. 

As  for  Howard,  his  confession  had  lifted  a  bur- 
den from  his  heart;  the  dread  that  his  sister  should 
know  the  past  had  hung  over  him  like  a  sword  of 
vengeance,  marring  every  moment  of  his  otherwise 
peaceful  life.  Now  that  she  knew,  and  was  not  only 
willing  to  forgive,  but  ready  to  instruct  and  guide 
him,  his  heart  was  lighter;  and,  while  he  dared  not 
hope  that  her  husband  would  be  equally  ready  to 
forgive  and  forget,  yet  he  hoped  for  forbearance,  at 
least. 

It  was  with,  a  flushed  cheek  that  he  looked  up  to 
return  Mr.  Hildreth's  greeting,  on  the  following 
morning,  as  he  sat  in  his  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  when 
he  entered  the  room,  and  his  eyes  quickly  fell  to  the 
floor,  as  if  afraid  to  meet  his  brother's  gaze. 

Mr.  Hildreth  saw  the  look,  and,  quickly  guessing 
its  cause,  came  forward,  and,  placing  a  hand  on  either 
of  Howard's  shoulders,  looked  down  into  the  face 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  331 

that  would  not  look  into  his,  saying,  with  fatherly 
kindness: 

"  My  boy,  this  has  been  a  sad  affair,  all  the  way 
through;  but  it  is  in  the  past  now.  Do  n't  worry 
over  it  too  much.  I  am  glad  you  decided  to  trust  us 
at  last;  I  felt  certain  you  would  some  time,  and  now, 
perhaps,  we  can  help  you." 

Poor  Allen!  He  could  have  endured  reproof,  and 
even  harsh  words  he  could  have  braced  himself 
against;  but  this  hearty,  unreserved  forgiveness  was 
wholly  unexpected,  and  he  wept  like  a  child. 

Grasping  his  brother's  hand  in  both  of  his,  he 
spbbed : 

"O  John,  you  are  too  kind;  I  didn't  expect 
this!" 

' '  What  did  you  expect,  then  ?  That  I  would  turn 
against  you,  because  I  did  n't  happen  to  be  tempted 
as  you  were?  I  trust  I  am  a  Christian." 

' '  I  know  it — I  know  it !  and  you  have  been  kind 
to  me  all  along.  If  I  had  had  your  help  during 
these  years,  I  believe  I  should  n't  liave  gone  so  far 
wrong  as  I  did." 

"Well,  come  now,  we  've  said  enough  about 
this."  And  Mr.  Hildreth  laid  his  hand  upon  Allen's 
head,  as  if  he  were  a  child,  instead  of  a  man:  "You 
are  not  to  fret  yourself  sick  again ;  we  understand 
each  other,  and  there  is  no  use  in  calling  up  the  past; 
we  '11  just  shut  it  out  from  this  on." 

"But  you  would  n't  have  me  forget  it  all,  would 
you?"  asked  Allen,  looking  up  at  last,  with  grateful 
eyes. 

"No  danger  of  that;    but  we  '11  try  to  help  you 


332         STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

to  a  new  life — much  better  than  the  old  one,  we  hope. 
You  Ve  trusted  to  us,  and  you  shall  never  be  sorry 
for  that  part,  at  any  rate." 

Allen  tried  to  murmur  his  thanks  for  all  these 
kind  words,  very  humbly,  and  with  a  voice  full  of 
emotion. 

After  a  few  moments,  he  said : 

"I  shall  always  be  a  burden  to  you;  that  's  an- 
other of  my  punishments,  I  suppose.  If  I  could 
only  do  something  to  earn  a  living,  instead  of  de- 
pending on  you  and  Helen!" 

Mr.  Hildreth  looked  at  his  brother,  without  re- 
plying, for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  his  eyes  to- 
ward the  fire,  as  if  in  deep  thought.  Presently  he 
said : 

"You  must  not  allow  that  to  trouble  you;  when 
we  feel  that  you  are  a  burden,  it  will  be  soon  enough 
for  you  to  begin  fretting.  Of  course,  you  will  be 
more  contented  if  you  could  be  employed ;  I  have 
considerable  trouble  sometimes  to  get  a  competent 
person  to  do  my  copying;  I  would  as  soon  pay  you 
as  any  one,  when  you  are  able  to  do  it." 

"O,  I  am  sure  I  could  be  of  some  service  if  you 
will  only  give  me  the  chance,  and  I  can  not  bear  to 
be  entirely  dependent." 

"I  wonder  I  did  not  think  of  it  before,"  said 
Mr.  Hildreth,  kindly.  ' '  As  soon  as  you  feel  that 
you  are  able  I  will  bring  some  home,  and  you  can 
do  it  here.  It  will  be  more  agreeable  probably." 

"I  think  I  could  do  a  little  to-day,  if  you  are 
willing  to  try  me,"  and  Howard's  face  lighted  up  at 
the  thought  of  going  to  work. 


SAVED  AS  BY  FIRE.  333 

' '  Very  well,  that  settles  it.  I  will  bring  some 
down  at  noon ;  but  remember  you  must  go  slowly  at 
first,  until  you  become  a  little  stronger;  we  can't 
have  you  overdoing  yourself;  when  I  find  you  at 
that  I  shall  withdraw  my  patronage." 

And  so  it  was  settled  that,  so  far  as  his  strength 
would  permit,  Allen  should  act  as  copyist  for  his 
brother,  and  by  this  means  he  was  made  to  feel  that 
he  was  not  entirely  a  burden. 

The  past  was  dropped.  Never  by  word  or  sign 
did  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Hildreth  refer  to  it,  and  when,  by 
and,  by,  he  was  enabled  by  faith  to  come  into  the 
new  life  of  a  believer  in  Christ,  he  could  better  un- 
derstand the  spirit  of  love  that  had  made  them  so 
gentle  with  the  wanderer. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  Allen  had  come  to  enjoy  his 
home  and  his  sister's  family.  The  discipline  he  had 
received  had  done  him  good,  and  six  years  of  expe- 
rience and  pure  living  had  removed  most  of  the 
marks  of  sin  from  his  face.  One  thing  which  puz- 
zled his  sister  was  his  apparent  contentment  with 
his  lot. 

One  day,  when  one  of  his  little  nieces  was  engaged 
in  a  childish  romp,  she  asked,  with  evident  regret : 

"O  Uncle  Allen,  don't  you  wish  you  could 
walk?" 

He  looked  up  at  his  sister  with  a  queer  smile  on 
his  face,  and  then  at  the  little  questioner,  with  a 
shake  of  the  head:  "I  don't  know,  little  one.  I 
guess  I  am  better  off  as  I  am." 

When  the  child  had  left  the  room,  he  said :  "You 
look  as  if  you  doubted  my  sincerity,  Helen." 


334  STORIES  OF  HOME  AND  HOME  FOLKS. 

"No,  I  don't  doubt  you;  but  I  don't  think  I 
understand  you  very  well." 

"Suppose  this  had  not  come  to  me,  and  I  had 
succeeded  in  my  plans,  then  I  should,  very  likely, 
have  gone  on  in  crime  until  I  had  become  a  hardened 
criminal.  God  knew  what  was  best  for  me,  and 
placed  me  where  I  had  time  to  think." 

"But  you  are  stronger  now,  and  if  you  were 
physically  well,  you  would  be  strong  enough  morally 
to  resist  temptation." 

"I  don't  know;  perhaps  so,  perhaps  not.  I 
should  be  afraid  to  risk  it.  I  may  be  a  coward,  but 
I  feel  so  safe  here  in  your  quiet,  Christian  home,  that 
I  doubt  whether  I  should  care  to  face  the  world 
again,  even  if  I  could.  John  has  taken  away  one  of 
my  trials  by  giving  me  work.  I  am  not  entirely 
useless,  and  if  God  sees  fit  to  keep  me  here  the  rest 
of  my  days,  I  am  content.  It  has  been  an  awful  dis- 
cipline, but  some  way  I  can  not  help  being  grateful 
for  it.  I  am  a  cripple,  but  he  has  saved  my  soul, 
even  though  saved  as  by  fire." 

Years  have  passed,  a*id  Allen  Howard,  leaning  on 
God's  promises,  is  growing  nearer  and  nearer  to  a 
perfect  Christian  manhood.  His  chastening  has  made 
him  humble  and  his  helplessness  has  taught  him 
faith,  not  only  in  God,  but  in  man.  Though  he  went 
astray,  the  Shepherd  sought  him  and  brought  him 
back;  though  he  sinned,  he  repented,  and  was  for- 
given, and  can  say,  "It  is  good  for  me  that  I  have 
been  afflicted,  for  now  have  I  kept  thy  law.". 


